


Sons of Lawrence

by mrs_squirrel_chester



Series: Sons of Lawrence [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bikers, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Porn, Angst and Tragedy, Best Friends, Biker Dean Winchester, Biker Sam Winchester, Bikers, Canon-Typical Violence, Comfort/Angst, Domestic Violence, Drug Use, Drug User Dean Winchester, Drug-Induced Sex, Drugs, Drunk Sex, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Consent, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Female Friendship, Female Reader, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, Graphic Violence, Gratuitous Smut, Gun Violence, Heavy Angst, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt John Winchester, Hurt Mary Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Illegal Activities, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Oral Sex, POV Female Character, Past Violence, Platonic Female/Female Relationships, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships, Public Sex, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Recreational Drug Use, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rough Dean Winchester, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sex, Sexual Content, Shameless Smut, Smut, Strong Female Characters, Threats of Violence, Vaginal Sex, Violence, biker john winchester, biker mary winchester, drug user, drug user female reader, drug user john winchester, drug user mary winchester, drug user reader, drug user ruby, drug user sam winchester, hurt female reader, hurt reader, illegal drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 05:52:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 35,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9705989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_squirrel_chester/pseuds/mrs_squirrel_chester
Summary: Sons of Anarchy meets Supernatural. In this AU, the Winchesters run the most notorious biker gang in Lawrence. They traffic illegal drugs, weapons, and anything else that makes them money and keeps them on top.





	1. Chapter 1

Freedom. That’s what it felt like when Dean hopped on his bike, and rode down the streets of Lawrence.  Even the back roads. Especially the back roads. It didn’t matter if he was going 20 or 90. It was the wind that surrounded him, pushed through his hair, up and over his shoulders. It was the fact that as he rode, nothing else mattered. Not John or Bobby grooming him to take over the family business. Not Mary pestering him playfully that it was past time to find a woman. Not Jo pining after him like he was a goddamn football quarterback. Nothing. It was just him and his bike.

It wasn’t that Dean was unhappy. He was fucking far from unhappy. He was just… bored. It was the same thing every goddamn day. Wake up… whenever he fucking felt like it, go to a business meeting, fix some shit, fuck up someone that deserved it, get drunk, get fucking high, and get laid. But hey, he was just following in his daddy’s footsteps. For the most part. John was the most fucking loyal husband in the universe. Never had he stepped out on Mary. He knew better. Mary’d cut off his balls, grind ‘em in a blender, and make John drink ‘em if he even thought about it.

And that’s what he was doing when he saw her, riding his bike aimlessly, no destination in mind; he just had to get away from everyone for a while, clear his mind. Maybe that was why he took notice of her, there was nothing else distracting him, pulling his attention 25 different ways.

Making up his mind at the last second, Dean rolled to a stop outside the diner and silenced the loud rumble of his bike with a flick of his wrist. He pushed off the bike and, thanks to his long legs, caught up to her quickly.

“Beautiful day,” he said quickly, cringing internally.

With her face set in fierce determination, she didn’t look up at him, nor did her pace falter. “Sure is.”

Huh. Looked like he was going to have to work harder than normal. Challenge accepted. “Where you off to in such a hurry?”

She was wearing large sunglasses, but Dean could see as she rolled her eyes. “Unlike you Winchesters, I have a _real_ job.”

He couldn’t stop from smirking. “You know who I am.” Dean’s stride went from purposeful to cocky in the blink of an eye. “I think it’s only fair that I get your name, sweetheart.”

With another roll of her eyes, she stopped and faced Dean. “First off, I ain’t your sweetheart. Second, not interested. And third, I’m running late and don’t have time for this.”

Dean watched as she spun on her heel and marched away. “See you later,” he called after her, smiling proudly to himself as he turned and jogged back to the diner where the still unnamed woman had exited.

It was Jo’s voice that greeted him, “Howdy, stranger. Thought you were ignoring me.”

This time, Dean did cringe. “Heya, Jo.”

She flipped her hair unnecessarily before approaching him, an extra sway added to her hips. “What can I do for ya?”

“The woman that just left, y/c hair, blue and white scrubs; I need her name.”

Jo rolled her eyes in irritation. Why couldn’t he see what was right in front of him? They belonged together, and it was wasn’t just Jo that thought so. Everyone in the club had said it at one time or another; John Winchester included. It hurt bad enough that she watched him take a different woman to bed every night, but now he was asking for someone else’s name? Fuck him.

“What’s in it for me?” she asked, sickly sweet and overtly sexual.

Dean pulled off his shades and leveled her with a dark stare. “What’s her name, Jo?”

Jo clenched her jaw and narrowed her eyes as she dug in her apron. After a moment, she pulled out a receipt, looked it over, and answered him coldly, “Y/N Y/L/N.”

Without thinking, Dean pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You’re an angel, Jo. I owe you,” he announced over his shoulder as he was already on his way out.

With a flick of his wrists, Dean started his bike and tore off down the road, leaving a stripe of burned rubber and more than several townspeople shaking their heads. Not everyone in Lawrence liked the Winchesters, but they didn’t do what they did for adoration. They kept the people of Lawrence safe, safer than the inept police department could ever dream. Was it 100% legal? Not by a fucking long shot. But that was one of the perks to having several of those inept officers in the know.

A handful of minutes later, Dean pulled into the garage of Singer Salvage, where his dad and Bobby were hanging over the hood of John’s 1967 Impala. Everyone called her Baby and she was one sexy, badass bitch.

John popped his head out, wearing a scowl. “Where you been? Missed the meeting.”

Dean knew better than to roll his eyes. “Sorry, lost track of time.”

“Bullshit. You know how important these meetings are, son. How do you expect to learn everything if you’re never here?” John didn’t bother to hide the anger from his voice. He was fucking tired of always having to remind his eldest son of his familial responsibilities.

“Back off, old man. You ain’t dying anytime soon, ok? We got plenty of time,” Dean snapped before angrily lighting his cigarette and pulling in a deep drag.

“Boy, don’t you-” Bobby’s hand on John’s shoulder was the only thing that stopped him from marching over there and handing Dean his ass.

“Go out back and find Sam, boy,” Bobby insisted while glaring at John. It wasn’t that John and Dean didn’t get along. But when John got his mind set on something, it was his way or the goddamn highway. More often than not, he didn’t play well with others.

Dean did as instructed and went through the back door to find Sam tinkering with his bike. “Need any help?”

Sam wiped his hands on a dirty rag, not that it did any good, and shook his head. “Nah,” he answered, half-smoked cigarette dangling from his lips. “Just finishing up with the oil.”

“Old man seems pretty pissed,” Dean said, digging two beer bottles from the cooler before dropping onto it.

“Don’t act so fuckin’ surprised, Dean.” Sam nodded in thanks when handed an opened bottle.

Dean took another drag and shook his head, narrowing one of his eyes to keep the smoke out. “He really needs to relax.”

Sam snorted while stubbing out his cigarette. “Yeah, right.”

They drank in silence for a few minutes, Dean smoking while Sam finished adding new oil.

“What was the meeting about?” Dean asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

“Business as usual. There’s a shipment coming in tomorrow that we need to keep an eye on,” Sam replied, digging in his pocket for his smokes.

Dean tossed his pack to Sam after pulling out another cigarette, piggyback lighting it before stubbing out the old one. “Who’d he put on it?”

“Who do you think?”

Rolling his eyes, Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. “Getting fuckin’ tired of these stupid gravy jobs.”

Sam tossed the pack of cigarettes at his brother, chuckling when it hit him in the side of the head. “Maybe if you fuckin’ showed up like you’re supposed to-”

“Shut up, bitch,” Dean snapped, smirking playfully before taking a long drag.

“Jerk,” was Sam’s rebuttal.

Mary came around the corner then, not wearing a smile like she usually did. “Where were you earlier?”

Again, Dean knew better than to roll his eyes. “I lost track of time.”

“Bullshit,” Mary repeated her husband’s disbelief. “You’re supposed to be getting ready to take over for your dad.”

Pulling in a lung-full of smoke, Dean stood. “Mom, I’ve already been over all of this with dad.”

Mary cleared the frustration from her voice, “I know, sweetie. It’s just… your dad isn’t going to be around forever.”

Dean pushed away and flicked his cigarette into a bucket full of sand, mumbling under his breath as he straddled his bike. He hated even thinking that his old man was going to die one day, but the way people were talking… fuck, he couldn’t be around any of them right now. He pulled out of the garage and sped down the road, completely ignoring the speed limit signs.

* * *

You were standing at the nurse’s station, looking over a patient’s chart when the emergency doors flew open. The first thing you heard was someone arguing with the EMT’s.

“Just fuckin’ let me go! I’m fine,” he insisted. There was something about his voice that sent familiarity buzzing through you. Turned out, you didn’t have to wait long to find out why. The gurney came around the corner a moment later.

“Son of a bitch,” you muttered. It was the Winchester that approached you earlier. And as murphy’s law would have it, you were the only nurse available.

Emerald eyes landed on you as the gurney approached and his full lips pulled into a wide smile. “Told you I’d see you later.”

Kevin, the EMT that had been struggling to keep the restraints fastened, raised a brow at you. “You know him?”

A shake of your head was your answer before giving instruction. “Take him into room 4.”

“You’re comin’, right?” the Winchester whose first name you hadn’t been given yet inquired.

Locking the computer you were on, you sighed heavily, talking under your breath so no one could hear you, “I love my job, I love my job.”

* * *

“-fucker came out of nowhere,” Dean rambled, telling the story once again.

“You’re lucky all you did was scrape up your arm,” you admonished. “And if you don’t sit still, your scar will be-”

Dean waved his hand. “It’ll go with all the others.”

You looked up with an arched brow. “You sound proud of that.”

“Fuck yeah, I am. I earned every single one of ‘em,” he boasted, smiling wide, showing a little peek of tongue as he did.

You worked hard to keep your voice flat. “Noticed you don’t wear a helmet either.” That was one thing about a lot bikers in town that pissed you off to no end.

“Awww, you do care,” he teased, his eyes twinkling in the shitty hospital lighting. How they managed to do that, you had no idea.

“Just doin’ my job, Winchester,” you muttered, tugging a little harder on the stitch than necessary.

He hissed at the bite of pain the general anesthetic didn’t quite reach. “You can call me Dean, you know.”

“I know.” And with that, you forced yourself to pay attention to the row of stitches. It wasn’t easy by any means. Not when he smelled like spicy leather and engine grease. Or when the light would catch his eyes just right and flecks of gold and amber would settle among the pine green, swirling together a little too perfectly.

“You’re blushing,” he noted, a light, teasing lilt to his voice.

The last stitch was sewn, and you made quick work of tying it off. “Just tired. It’s been a long day.”

You slathered on a thick layer of ointment and covered it with gauze and medical tape before standing to clean up.

Dean rolled down the sleeve of his slightly tattered black and white plaid shirt. “I think I should take you out to dinner.”

Scoffing, you pulled off the purple gloves and tossed them into the biohazard bin. “I think you should stop talking.”

“Come on, Y/N. It’s the least I can do.” He sounded completely genuine, which was a red flag for you.

It was difficult, but you kept your eyes on the screen as you entered in the treatment administered. “I don’t date patients.”

He waited until you printed off the forms and he signed them before saying anything further. “I’ve been discharged, right?”

After signing out of the system, you shoved your hands into the pockets on your scrub shirt. “Yeah. Just make sure to follow the instructions and you’ll be just fine.”

The papers were folded haphazardly and shoved into the pocket of his leather riding vest. “Have dinner with me.”

You rolled your eyes, turned away, and used some of the hand sanitizer from the dispenser on the wall before walking out. “There’s a prescription for vicodin if you need it.”

Dean leaned on the counter with his uninjured arm. “What if I say please?”

After rounding the station, you clenched your jaw and stared at him. His eyes were Still fucking twinkling and his stupid tongue was playing between his teeth again. _Goddamnit!_ You opened your mouth to begrudgingly accept, but then your mind decided to be a total buzzkill and play back all the times you got your heart broken. The last one almost killed you, literally.

You swallowed the large lump in your throat. “No, I can’t,” you managed to say before turning and jogging down the hall and into the locker room, punching your locker in frustration.


	2. Chapter 2

With his mouth agape, Dean watched her run away. “What the fuck?” He hadn’t really expected her to throw herself at him, but the fear that twisted her features had made Dean take a step back. He waited for a handful of minutes, hoping Y/N would come out so he could check on her, make sure she was ok. But she didn’t.

Grabbing a pen and paper, he jotted down a quick note, his name and cell number, folded it in half, scribbled her name on it, and placed it on the desk. He figured if she didn’t call, he knew where she worked and he could stop by anytime.

The ride home was a little more difficult than he thought it would be, but he held his own, managing to not tear a single stitch. His girl was banged up pretty bad, but he and Sammy could get her fixed up in a couple of days, a week at the most. All he had to do was convince his mom that he was fine.

As his luck would have it, Mary was standing in the garage, arms crossed, foot tapping, and a concerned scowl on her brow.

She waited until Dean turned the bike off before asking, “What the fuck happened to you?”

“Some asshole ran a stop sign,” he answered, pushing off the bike. He was still fucking pissed about the whole thing.

Mary winced as she gingerly lifted the remains of his sleeve. “You alright?”

“Yeah, ma. I’m good as new. They took me to General.” Dean started to dig around for his smokes, cursing when he remembered they got shredded when the bike fell.

“Stitches look good,” she praised, turning his arm in inspection. “Who did ‘em?”

Dean couldn’t stop from smiling when he said her name and the twinkle in his eyes didn’t go unnoticed by his mother. She pulled out the silver monogrammed cigarette case John had given her for their 30th anniversary and handed Dean a cigarette. They weren’t his brand, but when you want a smoke…

After pulling in a deep drag, Dean thanked Mary. “Fuck, ma. She’s the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen. Present company excluded,” he added with a wink when Mary’s brows shot up.

She swatted her son on the uninjured arm playfully after lighting her cigarette. “You plan on asking her out?”

Dean drug a hand through his hair, wincing at the pull of stitches when his muscles flexed. “Sort of tried that.”

“Sort of?” Mary asked, blowing smoke out her nose.

Squinting as he took a drag, Dean shrugged. “Said we should have dinner. She ran away. Literally.”

 

“I find that hard to believe.” Mary chuckled and pinched her sons stubble-dusted cheeks.

* * *

Fucking seriously? It had been three years. Three years since the cock sucker of an ex-boyfriend almost killed you. Three years and you still felt the sting of a blade against your stomach, the serrated edge digging a little deeper with every flex of his wrist, with every tightening of his fingers on the hilt.

You slapped your hands against the lockers and hung your head. You pulled in one ragged breath. Then another and another until the tears were gone, until your chest didn’t hurt, until every muscle in your shoulders and back stopped hurting.

Sniffling loudly, you stood upright, strode over to the full-length mirror, and lifted up your shirt just high enough to uncover the long scar on your stomach. It had healed a great deal since that night, but it was still gnarly looking; long and ragged, dark pink and puffy. You’d tried every remedy -professional and homeopathic- to rid yourself of the hideous scar, but nothing worked. You even entertained the idea of laser therapy, but after a bit of research, there was no way in hell you could afford it. Even with your medical discount.

The sound and buzzing of the pager on our hip made you jump back. “Goddamn it,” you mumbled. A quick look at the message had you running out of the room and toward the intensive care unit.

Anything having to do with Dean Winchester or your past would have to wait.

* * *

With a deep grunt, Dean stood tall and tipped his head back. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he squeezed his eyes closed and focused on the intense burn as the illegal drug entered his system. “Fuuuuuuck, that’s some good shit.”

Sam mirrored his brother, only he rubbed his nose with the palm of his hand, groaning low and heavy in contentment. “Jesus, dad. How pure they cuttin’ this shit?”

John was sitting in his usual seat at the head of the table, leaned back, legs spread, taking a long pull from a freshly lit cigarette. “Newest batch,” he nodded at the bricks on the table, “is sixty percent.”

“Holy shit,” Dean shouted. He could already feel it in his system, pumping his blood faster and harder, the hairs that covered his body were standing on end, the leather of his jacket was so fucking soft on the back of his neck and wrists. Fuck, he could even fucking feel his pupils blow out.

Mary, with her back to her children, took a quick bump from the [bullet necklace](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fcdn.perfectmemorials.com%2F%2Fproduct_images%2F737328%2Flg%2F5873.bulletwcrossstai_lrg_0_1454434587.jpg&t=NWJiYTgwMTNjZjMzNjRhYzA1NDkxZTJhYTBkYmZiN2JmNjJjNjdjMCxGT2JIb2syeQ%3D%3D&b=t%3ACfmOVX62N1SvYXISFQBhgQ&p=http%3A%2F%2Fmrs-squirrel-chester.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F157326044332%2Fsons-of-lawrence-2&m=1) she always wore, the necklace that John had given her years ago, the necklace that only the two of them knew housed her habit. Yup. Mary was just as addicted to cocaine as her husband and kids, but Dean and Sam knew nothing about it. It was more than a little hypocritical, but John had promised their kids a long time ago that he’d do anything to keep _‘that junk outta her nose’_. Too bad she’d been addicted since she was 15.

“Hey ma, you alright?” Dean asked from across the room.

“All good, just getting something outta my eye,” she lied without an ounce of regret or shame.

John’s hand was heavy on her hip. “It’s good, huh?”

She turned toward him and pulled the cigarette from his lips to steal a drag. “The best yet, baby.”

When John bit his bottom lip and squeezed his wife’s ass, Sam shouted, “Get a fuckin’ room!”

John didn’t even look at his youngest son when he answered, “We’re in one. Don’t like it, you know where the goddamn door is.”

Dean rolled his eyes and chuckled before snorting another line, this one longer than the first. The burn was more intense than the last, throwing proverbial gasoline onto the already raging fire. “Fuck, I could get used to this shit.”

“Right? Might have to give Benny a bonus.” Sam licked the white powder from his fingers, dropped into his chair, lit a cigarette, and pulled in a long, lazy drag.

Dean followed his brother’s lead, blowing out a warped smoke ring just when the very door John talked about a minute ago swung open. It was Jo. And she was wearing the tightest tank top she owned. The one that Dean once made the mistake of telling her that it made her tits look nice.

“Didn’t miss the party, did I?” She asked, strutting up to Dean, her hips swaying seductively. She was about to nudge his knee with hers when he suddenly twisted in his seat.

“Started a couple hours back. Product’s already been sampled.” It didn’t matter that a moment ago, he was flying high enough to focus on how his blood was pumping straight to his cock, how the double stitching of his boxer briefs rubbed deliciously across his sensitive cock-head. Now, all he wanted to do was leave.

Jo pushed her breasts out as she sat on the edge of the table. “You didn’t save any for me?” she asked, visibly pouting.

Dean went to answer, but it was Ruby that said, “Shoulda been here earlier.” It was no secret that the two women didn’t get along and Ruby didn’t even try to keep the contempt from her tone.

Sam’s large hands settled on Ruby’s hips as she stood between his legs, her own hands on his shoulder and in his hair. “Hey baby,” he greeted before she kissed him.

“Sorry, kid,” Dean muttered as he stood. “Looks like you missed out. Again. Might wanna get here on time from now on.”

Jo’s mouth fell open as he walked away, jeans clinging nicely to his thick thighs and ass. “Fuck you, Winchester,” she spat, thrusting her middle finger up.

“In your dreams, sweetheart,” Dean retorted, throwing the door open.

* * *

John watched his son storm out. “What’s up with him?” he asked, flicking ashes into a crystal bowl.

“Dean met _someone_  today,” Mary answered as she fiddled with her necklace, itching to take another hit.

Dark eyes widened in surprise. “I thought y’all were tryin’ to get him ‘n Jo together.”

“You sound like you don’t approve.” The itch had become too strong to ignore, so she unscrewed the top and, after making sure Sam was _thoroughly_  occupied with Ruby, took another quick hit.

John dropped a heavy hand to his wife’s bouncing leg. “She tries too hard,” he said simply, smirking darkly as his gaze wandered along Mary’s delicate features. The kind of life they lead, it could do things to a person, dull their shine, strip away their beauty. But not his Mary. Christ, she was more beautiful than the day they met.

Handing the stolen cigarette back, Mary blushed under the intensity of her husband’s gaze. “What, Johnny?”

“Just thinkin’,” he breathed.

“‘Bout what?” It wasn’t that difficult to know what her husband of almost 40 years was thinking, but it always boosted her self-esteem hearing him say it.

John slid his chair closer to her and whispered into her ear, “How fucking sexy you are and how I wanna throw you over my shoulder, take you to our room, and fuck you until you can’t walk straight.”

“What’s stopping you?” she asked coquettishly.

“Not a fucking thing,” John growled. He grabbed her hand, pulled her up from the chair, and threw her over his shoulder, smacking her ass because, why the fuck not?

* * *

There was something about the obsidian sky and the stars twinkling like diamonds that brought peace to Dean’s overstimulated mind. It didn’t take away from the intense high; rather, it heightened it. He couldn’t explain it sober, let alone high as a fucking kite, but fuck, he loved it.

He was lying on his mom’s old sunbathing patio chair, legs stretched out, arm up and behind his head, half-smoked cigarette stuck to his lips, cocaine-high eyes darting around the sky, thinking about Y/N. What happened to make her run away from him with utter terror flashing in her eyes? Whatever it was made Dean furious, made him want to fucking beat up someone. She brought out the protective side of him, the side that turned him into an alpha dog after a fucking bone.

He had just stubbed out the cigarette when Jo approached, freshly painted toes sparkling in the moonlight as she came to a stop next to Dean. “Thought I’d find you out here.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Jo,” he groaned. “When you gonna get it?”

Jo hummed in amusement. “I could ask you the same thing, Winchester.”

“I swear to…,” he sat up and scraped a hand over his face. Standing took a bit more effort that he was used to, so when Jo reached out to grab his elbow and keep him from stumbling, he jerked away.

“Don’t fuckin’ touch me, Harvelle,” he spat.

“Would it fuckin’ kill you to at least be nice?” Jo screamed, her face flushing as anger and frustration rolled through her.

Getting his balance, Dean thrust a finger at Jo and leveled her with a steely gaze. “Listen up, _kid_. I don’t want you. Never have. Never fuckin’ will. So quit hanging around, hoping I’ll fuck you outta pity or some shit. It ain’t gonna fuckin’ happen.”

Instead of getting emotional, Jo smiled and ran a finger over the blue St. Christopher medallion he always wore. “Don’t say something you’ll regret.”

“Joanna Beth Harvelle, git your ass in here,” Ellen called, poking her head out the back door.

“Comin’ Mama,” Jo replied, shooting a wink at Dean before stepping back. Rather than walk around him, Jo forced herself between him and the chair, making damn sure her ass pressed against his thighs and cock. “You know where I am when you change your mind,” she breathed over shoulder, blowing a kiss and winking before Ellen gave another holler of her daughter’s name.

Dean was too shocked to say anything resembling a brush off. He nodded to Ellen before she yanked Jo inside and dropped down to the chair, blowing out a heavy breath.

Despite being completely alone, he voiced his frustration. “What the actual fuck?”

At that point in time, he would normally go inside and find someone to fuck, but his mind quickly recovered and wandered back to Y/N. Dean lit a cigarette, laid back, and resumed staring at the night sky.

* * *

You were halfway across the parking lot when your friend Meg called for you. “This was left on the station for you.”

“I didn’t leave anything there.” You were sure of it. You always made sure to clean up any messes and leave nothing of personal value left out.

“You didn’t leave anything, it was left _for_  you,” she stressed, holding out the folded paper.

“Weird,” you mumbled, ripping open the paper to read it.

Meg was too nosy for her own good. “Who’s the mystery guy?”

“What makes you so sure it’s a guy?” Despite your best efforts and a replay of the locker room, you felt a blush color your cheeks.

A dark brow arched high and she crossed her arms. “Only guys leave notes laying around like that.”

You took another glance at the paper before folding it and shoving it into your pocket. “It’s from Dean.”

“Wait… Dean _Winchester_ is leaving you notes? When the fuck did that happen and how did I miss it?”

Rolling your eyes, you kicked her foot just enough to make her narrow her eyes at you. “ _It_ hasn’t happened. You didn’t miss anything.”

Meg scowled in confusion. “Sooooo he just decided to stroll into the hospital and leave you a note?”

“No… I… it’s… ,” you growled in frustration. “Fuck, Meg! I don’t fucking know, alright? He saw me on the sidewalk this morning, hit on me, and I shut him down. Couple of hours later he shows up needing stitches.”

“That’s it,” she said dryly. “Nothing else happened?”

You nodded in agreement. “That’s what I’m sayin’. Now he wants me to call him or something so he can take me out to dinner.”

That’s when the light went off in Meg’s head. “And you don’t… do ‘bad boys’ anymore.”

“Exactly,” you confirmed, sighing tiredly.

“Look, you should go home and get some rest. You just finished a shift that wasn’t even yours.” Meg grabbed your hand and gave it a sympathetic squeeze.

“Yeah, you’re right. See you tomorrow.”

You gave Meg a quick hug before walking around the block to your small house. It was tucked away behind the hospital and a couple large trees that made you feel a little more secure living on your own. If you were standing on the street, you wouldn’t know the house was there unless you had already seen it.

A hot shower, two glasses of wine, and a microwave dinner later, you were lying in bed with a certain biker on your mind. Despite your best efforts you couldn’t stop thinking about him, especially his eyes. God, you could get lost in those eyes. How amber and honey colored flecks swirled amidst jade, almost as if they were trying to hypnotize you, pull you into his orbit. That was what you were thinking of as you finally fell asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean stayed busy for the next handful of days working on his bike. With Sam’s help, it went a lot smoother than it could have. Not that Dean didn’t know his way around a bike; he helped build up and restore Baby from the ground up. Twice. Besides, it was nice to spend some time with his brother. Not that’d he’d openly admit that to anyone.

Speaking of Sam, he slid his phone into his back pocket. “You up for a ride?”

“Always, brother,” Dean answered, wiping grease from his hands with a rag. “What’d you have in mind?”

“That was Benny, said he got a kick ass deal on some more bricks,” Sam answered before lighting two cigarettes; one for him, the other for Dean.

Dean was more than ready for another cigarette, and another bump if he was being honest with himself. He pulled in a long drag before asking, “The old man give the all clear?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “It’s product, Dean. Fuckin’ amazing product that we can make a _killing_ off of. What’s there to clear?”

“I don’t know, man,” Dean muttered, shaking his head and tucking the cigarette into the corner of his mouth.

“You’re this close to being in charge. Why not show some initiative?” Sam winked as he tossed Dean the keys to his newly restored bike. “Besides, what could go wrong?”

* * *

Working as many shifts as you could, it wasn’t difficult to stay busy, to keep your mind on anything other than Dean. Not to say that the green-eyed biker didn’t stroll through your thoughts every so often, but he never stayed long, just enough to make your heart skip a beat or make you forget the simplest of words. And Meg sure as hell noticed.

“You should call him,” she said for the tenth time that day, smirking and winking playfully.

You lobbed a grape at her, which she somehow managed to catch in her mouth. “I’m not calling him, Meg.”

“Why not?” someone asked behind you.

It was hard not to jump in surprise. You spun around in your seat, ready to give someone shit for eavesdropping on a conversation that they weren’t a part of, but before you could even say anything, the woman held out her hand and introduced herself.

“Mary Winchester,” she said with a friendly smile.

Standing, you wiped your hand on your thigh and shook her hand. “Y/N Y/L/N, and this is Meg.”

Mary nodded at Meg. “I’m sorry to bother on your lunch, but I was hoping we could talk for a minute. I won’t take up much of your time. I can’t imagine how busy you must be.”

Meg quickly shoved the rest of her food into her bag and said she’d catch you later, and then she was striding quickly into the hospital. You wouldn’t doubt it if Meg was going to watch your interaction with the ‘Queen of Lawrence’.

“Would you… like to sit down?” you managed to ask. A sudden case of nerves made it difficult to speak correctly.

Mary declined with a shake of her head. “You never answered my question. Why won’t you call Dean?”

The nerves disappeared as quickly as they had come. Now, you were a little pissed off. “Not that it’s any of your business, Mary, but I’m a grown ass woman and I can make my own decisions who I do or do not date.”

Her lips pulled into a tight line. “I’m not here on behalf of my son, he doesn’t even know I’m here right now.”

“So why are you here? To tell me your son is a great man, that he has all of these amazing qualities, and that I would be a lucky woman to have him?” You couldn’t help but scoff, scraping a hand over your face in exhaustion and irritation.

“You mind?” Mary asked, pulling out a cigarette and lighter. When you shook your head, Mary made quick work of lighting her cigarette and pulling in a lazy drag.

You shifted under the weight of her gaze, wondering what was going on behind her steely blue eyes. You’d be lying if it wasn’t giving you some kind of anxiety. “You say you’re not here on behalf of Dean, so why are you here?”

As if she could read your mind, she offered you her cigarette, which you took with a slightly shaking hand. “I came to ask you to dinner.”

You sputtered, choking slightly on the smoke in your throat. “Dinner. With you or Dean?”

“A family dinner, if you will,” she replied coyly.

You took another drag, this one deeper than the last. “And what do you expect to happen at this ‘family’ dinner?”

“Not a goddamn thing. Just come, eat some food, drink some booze, and have a good time.”

With your eyes narrowed, you took another drag and handed the cigarette back. “And that’s it?”

Mary shrugged before saying, “That’s it.”

While you mulled things over, Mary smoked and smiled, waiting patiently for an answer. She wasn’t at all what you expected, not that you really knew what to expect, but the last thing you imagined was for her to be… kind.

Blowing out a heavy breath, you nodded. “When would you like me there?”

* * *

“What could go wrong, Sam? You fuckin’ cursed it,” Dean screamed at his brother as he pulled out his pistol.

“How the fuck was I supposed to know Crowley was gonna show up?” Sam was hunched over as his bike tore down the highway, narrowly missing the bullets that one of Crowley’s cronies shot wildly.

Dean gave an angry shout before turning around and firing at the crew behind them. It was crazy dangerous, shooting at someone behind you while driving a motorcycle, but when it came to his brother, Dean would do anything. His own life meant nothing without his brother around.

He got lucky. The bullets fired took out the front tires and sank deep into one of the cronie’s shoulders. Dean wanted to keep shooting, to kill the bastards that chased them, that fucking shot at them. When John found out…

Only when Dean caught a glimpse of red and blue flashing lights coming up behind them, did he tuck away his gun. He and Sam sped off, heading home where they were going to have to try and explain what they were doing in the first place, going to see Benny for more blow without ‘permission’.

* * *

Dressed in a nice mix of [**_casual and dressy_**](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.polyvore.com%2Fallison_agent_teen_wolf_inspired%2Fset%3Fid%3D212562027&t=MTY1NWEyNDMwNTc4NjQ1NjI4YzE2MmM4MjhiZTVkMjg1MGFmZGY3OSxua3hZYXNLNg%3D%3D&b=t%3ACfmOVX62N1SvYXISFQBhgQ&p=http%3A%2F%2Fmrs-squirrel-chester.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F157417787297%2Fsons-of-lawrence-3&m=1), you knocked on the door and shifted on your slightly sore feet. You had no explanation as to why you were nervous, but you couldn’t stop the fluttering deep in your stomach.

Mary greeted you with a smile, “Come on in.”

“I wasn’t sure how to dress,” you said, motioning to your outfit.

“Relax, honey,” she assured you. “You look beautiful.”

You wrung your hands as you entered the [**_house_**](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.simonton.com%2Fwp-content%2Fuploads%2F2015%2F09%2FSimonton-Single-Hung-Windows-Exterior-House-2-600x400.jpg&t=OWMzMzFlMTBlOWQ3YjViYWQ2MWEyM2FhMTViODgyNDQ3ZTA4NjQ1OCxua3hZYXNLNg%3D%3D&b=t%3ACfmOVX62N1SvYXISFQBhgQ&p=http%3A%2F%2Fmrs-squirrel-chester.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F157417787297%2Fsons-of-lawrence-3&m=1). It was… nicer than you thought it would be. The decor was earth tones; warm and inviting, giving a feeling of comfort you hadn’t known you were missing until you crossed the threshold.

Mary’s hand was on your shoulder as you took in your surroundings with wide eyes. “Welcome to our home.”

You hadn’t seen John stand from the dark leather recliner. His gruff voice yanked your attention away from his wife. “It’s always good to see a new face around here,” he joked, shooting a wink over you that was meant for Mary.

Should you shake his hand or something? “Thank you for inviting me into your home. It’s really beautiful.”

“Would you like the nickel tour? John was just about to throw the steaks on. Wait, you eat meat, right?” What looked like real terror flashed sapphire in Mary’s eyes.

Barely holding back a laugh, you answered, “Hell no.”

She blew out a heavy breath. “Thank God! Had me worried.”

Mary walked you through the house, telling stories about each of the rooms; most of them having to do with her children. “And over there,” she said, pointing to a painted over dent in the wall, “is from Dean’s head.”

You winced as if you had just witnessed the unknown event. “What the hell happened?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me,” you urged, hoping you weren’t coming across as nosy.

Mary started giggling. “Dean was 13 and convinced he was going to marry their babysitter. Oddly enough, Sam had also ‘fallen in love’ with her.”

“Oh, boy.” You didn’t have to use your imagination to figure the rest out.

“Dean may be older by four years, but Sam… fuck, that kid could take down a grown man.” Mary laughed again, this time at a memory of Sam doing just that to their father. Took them all by surprise. That summer, they enrolled him in football.

You and Mary had just stepped into the kitchen when the rumble of two motorcycles grabbed your attention. Then there was yelling.

Then John ran into the house, urgency thick on his tongue. “Mare, get the first aid kit.”

She didn’t ask why or what happened, just turned and ran into the bathroom, emerging not two seconds later with a black duffel in her hand. She strode over and grabbed your hand, pulling you through the house behind her.

“I had hoped nothing like this would happen tonight.” Her smile was tight, forced, scared. You didn’t have time to ask what she meant, because lying on the garage floor was a man with long brown hair and blood pouring from his chest.

Your medical training kicked in immediately upon seeing him. You barked orders at John and Dean, telling them where to put Sam. A hospital would have been ideal, but given the location of the wound and how much blood he was losing, time was of the essence. While you worked on Sam, Dean and John disappeared, but you could hear them arguing. With a shake of your head, you focused, pushed out their angry shouts, and worked diligently.

By the time you got the bullet out of Sam’s chest, he had passed out and Mary was holding him upright in a chair, handing you whatever you needed to complete the task.

After washing your hands, you found Mary in the garage smoking and cleaning up the blood that was staining the concrete floor.

“You need any help with that?” you asked, dropping to your knees next to her.

She shook her head. “No, you’ve done so much already.”

“I don’t mind. It’s not like my clothes aren’t already fucked.” Your cream sweater had been used to put pressure on the wound and your jeans had various shapes and sizes of rust-colored blood.

Mary looked at you and smiled apologetically. “Do you want to change? We’re about the same size.”

“No,” you insisted. “It’s fine, really.”

“Thank you,” she breathed before turning her attention back to the blood. Little of anything was said as you helped. The garage was filled with the splashing of cleaning solution and the scrubbing of bristles on concrete. Once that was done, she offered you a drink and a cigarette, both of which you happily accepted.

“Tell me something, Mary,” you whispered. “Shit like this happen a lot?”

She waited until you sat next to her, your legs stretched out on the lounge chair next to the pool. “Honestly? Yeah. Yeah it does.”

John stormed past, muttering about being, “fuckin’ sick and tired of everyone thinkin’ they can just go off and do whatever the fuck they want.”

Without a word, Mary stood and followed her husband into the house, leaving you to your thoughts. Not that you were with them for long. You had just taken a drag when Dean walked up.

He looked different than the other day, self-conscious or nervous maybe? He was picking at the dried blood on his hands and just standing there, as if he were waiting for an invitation.

You motioned to the chair his mother had been sitting in. “Have a seat, Dean.”

He smiled gently and dropped onto the chair with a tired groan. He pulled out and lit a cigarette, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose as he pulled in a deep drag. Several minutes went by before he said anything.

“Not that I’m not thankful,” he whispered. “But what are you doing here?”

You looked over at him and actually had to swallow before you could answer. The sun had started its descent, painting the sky in chartreuse, periwinkle, and lilac, and those colors swirled together as if God himself was up there painting on a large fucking canvas. Dean Winchester, with his freckles and long lashes and strong jawline, was fucking gorgeous in any kind of light, but then and there, he looked like a goddamn god of some kind.

“Your uh… your mom invited me to dinner,” you managed to get out.

Dean chuckled low in his throat. “My mother the matchmaker.”

“I should probably get going,” you mumbled, pushing up from the chair.

“What, why?” he asked, voice slightly raised.

You motioned at the house. “Your brother was just shot and judging by the way your dad went stomping off, dinner’s been cancelled.”

Dean stood and shook his head. “People still gotta eat.”

“In one way or another, we’re both covered in blood. What do you suggest?” you asked, crossing your arms over your stomach.

He winks then and it’s playful and sexy and cute all at the same time. “Who says we have to go anywhere?”

It was twenty minutes later and the two of you are eating steaks that had been cooked in rosemary and garlic butter, green beans soaked in parmesan cheese and ceasar dressing, with sliced onions and potatoes. The two of you got to know each other, laughed, and even flirted over dinner. You hadn’t had this much fine since…

You sat back, almost painfully full, and finished off the glass of wine. “Well, shit, Dean.”

With his brows pulled together, Dean stood and started to clear the table. “What, Y/N?”

You went to get up, but Dean had already grabbed your plate. “I was sort of hoping you’d be a shitty cook.”

His laugh was gruff yet rich, a sound that drove goosebumps down the back of your neck. “And now that you know I’m not?”

“If I say yes,” you started, stopping for a moment when he turned and leaned against the sink, “if we… date, all I ask for is complete honesty. I’ve been… -” you trailed off, absentmindedly dropping a hand to your stomach.

Green eyes sparkling with concern were suddenly even with yours as he dropped to his knees. He covered your hand with his and he said, “I’ll tell you anything and everything as long as you do the same.”

You swallowed thickly and blinked rapidly at the sudden stinging of tears behind your eyes. “Deal.”

A smirk tugged at his lips. “How ‘bout we seal it with a kiss.”

“What kind of girl do you think I am, Dean?” you joked, fully aware and loving the scrape of callouses against your skin.

“The perfect kind,” he breathed before pressing his mouth to yours.


	4. Chapter 4

The first thing that Sam felt when he stirred was a hot, throbbing pain in his chest. The next was a stab to both temples, how it throbbed in time with his heart, pulsing hard and fast. His eyes were heavy, refusing to raise no matter how hard he tried. He knew where he was just by the plush leather he was half-lying on. He had spent many nights passed out in that very spot. With his eyes still fighting him, he shifted on the chair until his ass was on the edge. He spread his feet and, using the arm that wasn’t throbbing painfully, hoisted himself out of the chair.

Sam stumbled and cursed, grinding it out through his teeth, drops of spittle falling from his lips. Bursts of white exploded behind his eyes as the pain intensified, spreading up into his neck and blossoming at the base of his skull. He took a moment to regain his footing, found the wall with his hand, and proceeded slowly to the door.

* * *

Dean had his hands in Y/N’s hair and she was making the most erotic sounds while they made out on the couch. With most women, Dean had them undressed and writhing beneath -or on top of- him by now. But with her… things were different. He hadn’t known her more than a week, but there was something about her that he craved, and it wasn’t sexual or anything like that. It was on some level he hadn’t known existed. Something deep within him sparked, igniting a fire that was well on its way to becoming a full-fledged blaze. He was equal parts scared and intrigued.

And then the moment was gone. Sam stumbled in, eyes closed and hand sweeping the empty space in front of him.

“Dean,” he croaked. “You there?”

Dean shot off the couch without a second thought. “Sammy,” he rasped, grabbing his brother’s hand. “You’re supposed to be resting.”

Y/N was pulling out a chair, instructing Dean to help Sam sit down so she could inspect the would. “This might hurt, Sam, but I gotta look, ok?”

Sam hissed in anticipation of poking and prodding, but Y/N was quite gentle. “What happened?” he asked no one in particular.

“One of them got you,” Dean answered darkly.

After approving of the way the wound looked, Y/N applied a clean piece of gauze to it. “You didn’t feel it until you were home, after the adrenaline wore off.”

Dean shot her a wink before teasing his brother. “You’re lucky she was here, man.”

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “I need you to open your eyes, Sam. Can you do that?”

Sam’s brows knitted together. “I… I can’t. It’s so bright.”

Dean looked at you with worry clouding his eyes. “Is that normal?”

“Did you hit your head at all?” she asked as Dean flicked off the lights.

“I don’t… I don’t think so,” he sighed. “It’s all a bit foggy.”

You asked Dean for a penlight, which he quickly located, slapping it into your open and waiting hand. “What’s the last thing you remember?” you whispered as you gently opened one of his eyes, flashing the light into it quickly.

Sam pulled away from the light. “It’s… I was riding with Dean?”

“That’s right, brother,” Dean confirmed, squeezing Sam’s uninjured shoulder.

“What else?” you pushed. You didn’t like the way Sam was reacting, the way his words had started to slur, how utterly confused and disoriented he seemed.

Sam rubbed at his forehead and let out a pained groan. “Can I take somethin’?” he pleaded. “Head is fuckin’ poundin’.”

Dean disappeared into the kitchen after you nodded your approval. While the two of you waited, you asked Sam again, “What else do you remember?”

“People were shooting at us. I think… maybe?”

“Good, Sam,” you lied. He was asking too many questions instead of giving definitive statements.

Dean jogged back into the room with an orange pill bottle and quickly filled a glass with water. “Got some oxy, man.”

Sam swallowed the pills greedily and gasped for air after chugging the water. “Th- thanks,” he rasped.

“What’s goin’ on with him, Y/N?” Dean demanded softly.

“I’m pretty sure he has a concussion.”

Dean’s eyes started to dart side to side, and that’s when he remembered how it happened. “When he got off his bike, he was fine for a second, and then he just… he crumpled to the floor. That had to have been it, right?”

She nodded, watching Sam carefully. “Makes sense,” she murmured before catching the way Dean’s face seemed to collapse with guilt. “Hey, hey, no. Don’t do that, Dean.”

“I’m supposed to protect him, Y/N,” he croaked, his voice shattering under the weight of familial responsibility.

“Dean,” she breathed, standing directly in front of him and cupping his face in her hands. “He’s fine, I promise.”

He pulled in a ragged breath and leaned into hands, his own weighing heavily on her hips. “Thank you,” he sighed, his eyes fluttering closed.

Y/N pushed up and kissed him, murmuring against his lips, “We should stay up with him, watch him.”

Dean moaned low in his throat and dug his fingers into your ass. “What’d you have in mind, Doc?”

“Blackjack,” Sam interjected quietly. “And stop making out, it’s making me nauseous.”

* * *

Going to work on little to no sleep was nothing new to you; working 48, sometimes 72 hour shifts, you got used to being a walking zombie. But there was something different about the level of tiredness that settled deep in your bones. You blamed it on the emotional roller coaster from last night. But mostly, you blamed it on Dean.

After you went home, you couldn’t get him off your mind. Not with the way your body was still buzzing after feeling the thick weight of him atop you, between your legs, grabbing at you, trying to get you closer, as if he were pulling you into him. How he kissed you, his tongue invading your mouth, tasting you, memorizing you. How he tasted of beer and the dinner previously eaten. How he smelled like gasoline and smoke. All of it, all of him, was dark and dangerous and every atom, every cell, every follicle, craved him. His touch, his taste.

You were fucked.

It was late and you were drinking your stale-ass coffee when someone’s heels came strutting up to the nurse’s station. Whoever it was rapped their nails on the desk, very interested in gaining your attention.

“Just a moment,” you said, your attention focused on the file of a patient that had tried to kill herself by cutting her wrists.

The nails didn’t stop. Rather, they got louder. “Excuse me,” she demanded, irritation flowing off her in waves.

You were too tired for this shit. You heaved out a sigh and glared up at the woman. She was petite, blonde, and wore a scowl.

“How can I help you?” you asked, barely restraining yourself from snapping at her.

“Can you tell me where I can find Y/N Y/L/N?” she asked, large eyes wandering around the small area.

Just what you needed right now. “That would be me. And you are?” you inquired as you stood, straightening your scrubs.

A perfectly tweezed brow arched as she took in your appearance. “Name’s Jo, Jo Harvelle,” she introduced herself without the niceties of extending her hand. “Is there someplace we can talk?”

With your arms crossed, you shook your head. “About what?”

“Dean,” Jo stated simply, her lips tugging into a knowing smirk.

You should have known somthing like this would happen. “Let me guess, you want me to back off.”

Jo’s smile pulled wider, exposing perfectly white teeth. “That was easier than I thought it would be.”

You actually snorted, you hadn’t done that since you were a kid, but it was like you couldn’t help yourself. “Hate to burst your bubble, princess,” you said sarcastically, strolling out from the sanctuary of the desk. “But if Dean wanted to be with you, he’d _be_ with you.”

Jo’s smile fell and anger quickly took control of her features. “You fucking bitch,” she snarled through her teeth.

“So I’ve been told. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a job to get back to.” You turned away after rolling your eyes, fulling intending to check the vitals on the suicide attempt. But you didn’t make it far.

Her hand was on your arm, blunt nails digging deep into your skin, and she was yanking you around. “Dean is _mine_.” Jo was actually seething, her chest rising and falling rapidly, nostrils flared, and if her eyes could flash any other color, they’d be crimson.

Glaring down at the petite woman, you demanded, “Get your hand off’a me.”

She had the nerve to smirk. “What are you going to do about it?”

You wanted to knock Jo on her ass, show her exactly what you could do. The only thing stopping you was the fact you were standing in the middle of the hospital, your place of employment. They would have no problem firing you if you got into a physical confrontation. Rather than give her what she clearly needed, you pulled out your cell phone and pressed a contact.

After one ring, they answered. “Security.”

“Security is needed in the ICU. Immediately,” you added with a cruel tone.

Jo’s hand fell away and she cleared her throat. “Don’t think this is over, Y/N.” She smiled wickedly before she spun on her heel and walked away, hips swinging confidently.

You waited until she had turned the corner before telling security everything was fine, but they needed to keep an eye out for the blonde woman that was about to walk past them. She might not be an immediate threat, but you didn’t want to risk anything.

You don’t know why your hand was shaking as you ran it over your face, but you didn’t like it. With a deep breath, you squared your shoulders and went back to work.


	5. Chapter 5

After work, you went home and took a shower, changing into a _ **[black tank and jeans with a hooded sweatshirt and Chucks](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.polyvore.com%2F81%2Fset%3Fid%3D216079043&t=ZjcyYzZlYTU3NGVhYTYyN2Q4NDBlYTY5NDE0ZDg5ZmNjYjdkNjZjZixERndFT1k2Tg%3D%3D&b=t%3ACfmOVX62N1SvYXISFQBhgQ&p=http%3A%2F%2Fmrs-squirrel-chester.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F157548876677%2Fsons-of-lawrence-5&m=1)**_ before heading back to the Winchester’s house. You needed to talk to Dean about Jo.

He met you halfway up the driveway with a long kiss. “Hey babe. I was hoping you’d come by.”

“Yeah?” you sighed, eyes still closed and your arms around his waist. “Not sick of me yet?”

“Not a chance,” Dean sighed, swaying a bit as the two of you did nothing but stare at the other.

Laughter started to bubble in your throat and you couldn’t stop it from escaping. “What?”

“Just lookin’ at my girl. That ok?”

You pretended to mull things over, gnawing on your bottom lip as you did so. “I suppose.”

Dean kissed you, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth none-too-gently. “Come inside and meet the guys, yeah?”

“Sure,” you answered softly. It could wait a little while, you supposed. With your fingers tangled in his, Dean led you through the garage and into a large building by the pool.

* * *

It was dark and loud, full of boisterous conversations and plenty of illegal activities. It didn’t bother you, honestly. You’d been around and seen plenty of things in your life that something like smoking pot and snorting coke didn’t unsettle you. Hell, an old itch flared back to life, an itch that you desperately wanted to scratch.

Sam came over, cigarette hanging from his lips and a beautiful brunette by his side. She smiled warmly before pulling you into her arms. “Thank you for being there last night.”

It took you by surprise, the hug, but that didn’t mean you didn’t return it. You immediately liked this woman, so you closed your eyes and melted into the embrace. “Just doing my job.”

She pulled back and squeezed your hands. “We’re all glad you were. Holy shit, where are my manners. I’m Ruby. I probably should’a started with that, huh?”

Dean nudged your shoulder with his. “You’ll wanna get used to that kind of greeting. It’s gonna happen a lot ‘round here.”

Sam bent down and wrapped an arm around you, pulling you into him as he kissed the top of your head. “Thank you,” he murmured into your hair.

“How ya feelin’, Sam?” you asked, falling easily back into your profession.

He shrugged one large shoulder, the one that didn’t have a bullet in it 24 hours ago. “Just a bit of a headache and residual pain, but I’m good.”

You arched a brow and went to press the matter further, but Sam chuckled. “I’m good, Y/N. I promise. Now, what d’ya say we get you a drink?”

With your hand in Dean’s and Ruby by your side, the four of you got a drink and made your way around the room. Introductions were made, and fuck, Dean was right; they sure liked to hug. You had somewhat prepared yourself for that, but not the kisses. Man, they liked to kiss! Your cheek, your lips, hell, even your forehead and nose. You took it all in stride though. Once again, your history of being in that kind of environment came in handy.

You were laughing loudly and having a good time when you saw her. Grabbing Dean’s hand, you gave it a tight squeeze.

Dark eyes were suddenly full of worry. “Are you ok, sweetheart?”

“That girl,” you said, pointing across the room to Jo, “is a fucking lunatic. She came to the hospital today.”

Dean’s eyes flashed and his entire demeanor changed. “The fuck did she say to you?” he demanded, snarling mere inches from your face.

You weren’t scared, not of him, but that didn’t mean your heart wasn’t jack-hammering in your chest. Your mouth was suddenly dry so you chugged the rest of your beer. “Typical jealous bitch things. How you’re hers and I need to back off.”

“That fucking bitch,” he spat, his entire body thrumming with rage.

“Funny,” you laughed. “She said the same thing about me.”

Dean threw back the rest of his drink before asking, “Did she hurt you?”

“Nah,” was your reply. “Not that she didn’t try.” You pushed up the sleeve of your hoodie to show him the crescent-shaped bruises on the inside of your arm.

That’s when Ruby decided to rejoin the conversation. “The fuck did that?”

Dean shook his head as his blunt nails ran over the blemished skin. “Bitch needs to be taught a lesson.”

“The hell does Jo think she’s doin’?” Ruby asked sarcastically, rolling her eyes before glaring at the blonde woman across the room.

As if she could hear the conversation, Jo faced the four of you. Instead of recoiling under the weight of your collective glare, she raised her almost empty glass and blew a kiss. You found yourself shaking, fighting the urge to run across the room and kick her ass.

Dean must have felt the tremors, because he stood in front of you, saying your name several times before you looked up at him. “You want something to relax?”

“Fuck yes,” you shouted over the pulse of music, conversation, and cracking of pool cues against ceramic balls.

* * *

With your head tipped back, you could see the whole damn sky. The stars seemed to be sparkling extra bright tonight. Even the smallest ones that usually got lost amidst their brothers and sisters, the ones that got swallowed easily by the obsidian backdrop. You couldn’t help but voice your awe.

“Just for you,” Dean whispered into your ear, his lips ghosting over the shell.

The moment you pulled in the illegal drug, you felt the heat of it spread through your system, sending sparks dancing under your skin, prickling through it and raising the small hairs covering your body. Now, you were standing next to the pool, and Dean was plastered to your back, his hands spread wide on your stomach and thigh, tips digging deep, callouses scraping, his cock hard against the small of your back, bodies swaying, pushing, pulling… All of a sudden, you walked out of Dean’s grip, tore off your clothes -save for your bra and panties- and dove into the pool.

You broke through the surface to find him stripping out of his clothes. The way he hopped around when his jeans caught on his shoes made you laugh. You watched hungrily as the removal of clothing revealed his thick-in-all-the-right-places physique, making your mouth water. Every move he made, chords of well-defined muscles twitched under his freckle-dusted skin.

Dean was in the water and swimming quickly toward you, mumbling the ‘Jaws’ theme as he grew closer. You pretended to be afraid, swimming weakly away as if you were injured, and whispering pleas of wanting to survive. Just as you reached the edge, one thick arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you into him, pressing you into the dark blue tiles. You gasped at the hardness of _everything_ against your back. Unable to control yourself, you pushed your ass back, grinding into his cock.

He let loose a moan next to your ear. “Baby girl, you feel what you do to me?” he asked, want thick on his tongue.

Your knuckles were well on their way to turning white. “Not complaining, are ya?”

“Fuck no,” he breathed before kissing down the column of your neck.

It took a couple tries before you could ask, “Wanna feel what you do to me?”

Dean sucked hard on your pulse point, moaning low enough that his chest rumbled against your back. You took that as a yes and grabbed one of his wandering hands and pushed it into your panties. His thick fingers pushed between your folds, biting your neck even harder.

Your name fell from his mouth in a sinfully thick rasp. He stroked you, dragging his fingers harder, pushing them deeper, crooking them just right, rutting against you, into the hand that you slipped into his boxer briefs, until the pair of you were on the brink of breaking.

And then something was thrown into the pool.

“The fuck?” Dean roared, dark eyes landing immediately on Jo.

“I want that fucking bitch outta here,” Jo demanded, stomping her foot like a spoiled child.

Dean pulled himself, and then you, out of the pool. He stormed up to Jo and got right in her face. “You are in no fucking position to be making any kind of fucking demands, _kid_ ,” he spat.

Jo’s eyes were wide as she shoved Dean away from her. It took him completely by surprise because he actually stumbled back. She marched around him and got in your face. Or tried to considering she was shorter than you.

You all out laughed in her face. “You’re fucking kidding, right? Am I supposed to be scared of you?” you asked humorously, going so far as to poke her in the shoulder. It might have been stupid, but you weren’t unprepared.

She launched herself at you with a scream that ripped through the air. You caught her with a grunt, grinding out a curse when she pulled your hair hard enough to wrench your neck painfully. As your luck would have it, she didn’t have her hair pulled back. So you twirled it around your fingers and pulled as hard as you could. You were rewarded with the removal of her hands, but that just meant she could start slapping and punching you. Which is exactly what she did. But your hands were still in her hair. You had leverage and you used it to your advantage.

Jo was screaming at you, calling you every cruel name in the book, and then some. You had to give her credit for creativity. And you would have if the situation was different. You were just about to kick her legs out from under her when someone pulled you back. It was Dean, but you didn’t give a shit.

“Let me go!” you screamed, legs kicking and hands pushing at his thick arms.

Jo was shouting as well, her step-father Bobby was doing a fairly good job of keeping her back. “I don’t fuckin’ care!”

Dean’s mouth was by your ear. “Stop it, Y/N,” he pleaded. “She’s not worth it.”

You were breathing heavily, chest rapidly rising and falling, but something about being close to Dean, hearing his voice, made you calm. You gave a nod, letting him know that you were fine. His grip loosened slowly.

The two of you watched Bobby trying to talk to Jo, telling her to apologize and that it was time for her to go home. Dark eyes were flashing as they settled on you, but she stopped fighting him. It might have had something to do with the fact that everyone had come out to see what the commotion was about.

Jo clenched her jaw, muttered something to Bobby, and approached you. Dean’s hand was on your waist, the bite of callouses grounding you, keeping you calmer than before. That was until she said the one word that made your blood boil.

“Cunt,” she snarled.

Your fist collided with her nose before you even thought about doing it. She reeled back, stumbled, and fell into the pool.

* * *

Everyone had left you alone for the last hour, maybe more, and you were sitting by the pool; drink in one hand, cigarette in the other, and Dean behind you. You were both dry, somewhat dressed, and covered in a thin blanket.

“You alright?” Dean rasped into your hair, kissing the chlorine-scented strands.

You sighed before taking a lazy drag. All you did was nod in response, your eyes still fixed on the sky, unable to move from the sparkling stars.

“Sure? She got you a couple times,” he murmured, stroking the angry red welts on your forearm.

Humming in response, you watched the way his fingers gingerly caressed you. “I’ve had worse. Gonna take more than a bitch like her to take me down.”

Dean shifted behind you and pulled you closer into his chest. “You were awesome,” he praised, sending a shudder down your spine.

As much as you wanted to turn and finish what you had started in the pool, you were suddenly tired. So you sat there, drank and smoked with him until the two of you fell asleep, his arms wrapped tightly around you.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italics are flashbacks.

It was during a meeting the next day, one that Y/N was sitting in on, that an unexpected visitor dropped by.

He waltzed in without even knocking. “Hello, boys,” he rasped, cigarette-tainted voice gruff cutting through the smoke-filled room like a knife.

John stood tall, anger coursing through him. “Crowley,” he greeted the new arrival with a firm handshake. “We weren’t expecting you.”

The shorter man shrugged and shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his black jacket. “Heard what happened to Sam,” he stated simply, eyes scanning the room until they landed on the youngest Winchester. “How you doin’, Moose?”

Sam bristled at the nickname no one had been able to convince Crowley to stop using. “Right as rain,” Sam ground out.

“Glad to hear it,” he lied as he started walking deeper into the room.

“What do you want, Crowley?” John demanded. He was still pissed at his sons for going behind his back, but the fact was that one of Crowley’s men shot his son.

“What?” Crowley feigned offense. “Can’t I drop in on my old friend?”

The room was thick with tension, making everyone shift uncomfortably under the pressure of it. The only person that appeared to be enjoying it was Crowley. John’s hands were balled into fists as he stared at the man he had once called his brother. But that was decades ago, before the love of a woman drove a wedge between them.

“Been a long time since you called me that,” John pointed out.

“Times change, Johnny,” Crowley basically sneered. “Of all people, you should know that.”

Mary, who had been assuring Y/N that everything was fine, stepped out from behind the bar. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Crowley looked around, taking in all the items the group decided to decorate the room with. “It’s a bit dark in here, don’t you think?”

Murmurs broke out from the group, the loudest being from Dean. “The fuck does he think he is?”

With one glare from John, Dean slapped his mouth shut. “What are you goin’ on ‘bout, Crowley?”

“Some floor to ceiling windows would be nice,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “Maybe a new coat of paint.”

“So help me…” John was visibly shaking now, his anger only growing with every passing second.

“Probably get rid of that puny thing you call a bar,” he continued, pointing a thick finger to the back corner where Mary was seething and someone he hadn’t seen before stood with wide eyes full of curiosity. “And who are you?”

Before she could say anything, Mary stood in front of her and John grabbed Crowley by the shoulder, whirling him around. “You got to the count of five.”

“Why so hostile?” Crowley laughed.

John’s jaw clenched painfully as he counted, “One.”

_Crowley always had a crush on Mary. With her crystal eyes and blonde hair, she reminded him of an angel; so ethereal. He flirted with her shamelessly, hoping that maybe one day, she would see him for more than just a friend. And then one day, she smiled back in a way that made his heart race even faster._

_He decided right then and there that he would ask her out on a proper date. Never did he think she would actually say yes._

Crowley’s smile didn’t falter. “Look at the alpha male. Can see why you chose this one, Mare.”

“Two,” John spat.

_Crowley ran a hand through his hair, taming the wayward strands that the motorcycle ride had disturbed. He pushed off his bike and approached the diner where he was meeting Mary, but a noise that didn’t belong grabbed his attention. He rounded the corner and what he saw drove white-hot anger coursing through him._

_John had Mary pinned to the wall and they were kissing._

“What’s the matter, Johnny? Don’t want people knowing about that?” Crowley growled.

Rage was pouring through John, making every muscle twitch and spasm. It wasn’t a secret to anyone in the room, save for Y/N. “Three.”

_Crowley watched as they kissed, their hands roaming over body parts, pushing and pulling, desperately trying to get closer to one another. It was when Mary moaned John’s name, tugging on his thick black hair, that Crowley reacted._

Crowley laughed gruffly as Mary came over and placed a hand on John’s shaking arm. “Let him go, Johnny,” she breathed.

“Might want to listen to her. I didn’t come here alone. I know better.”

John didn’t even pause to think about it. “Two.”

_Crowley gave a shout as he ran over, pushing John away from the woman he loved. John, taken completely by surprise, fell to his ass on the gravel. Mary tried to stop the fight, bless her, but nothing could come between one man defending himself and the other so full of rage he was seeing red._

The hand holding the back of Crowley’s neck was shaking so badly, Crowley himself had started to shudder, though it barely affected his voice. “Let me go, Johnny.”

Mary’s nails were digging into John’s plaid shirt, no doubt scraping the skin below. “Please, John,” she begged. “Don’t do this.”

“They shot my son,” John said through his teeth. “He could’a died.”

Crowley, raising to his toes, looked over John’s shoulder. “Looks quite alive to me.”

“He almost died,” Y/N announced, almost cutting the tension between the two older men. “Bullet barely missed his subclavian artery.”

“Fancy talk,” Crowley laughed. “Where’d you get this one?”

Dean was up and out of his chair before anyone could blink. Hand wrapped tightly around Y/N’s elbow, he pulled her back from Crowley and his parents. “She’s not for you to worry about.” Because the Winchesters knew what happened when Crowley got ‘worried’ about someone.

Crowley shook his head. “Sounds just like his father. What d’ya say, John? You still gonna kick my ass?”

“Tell me what you want first,” John sneered, hand still gripping the shorter man.

“Can we sit down and talk about this over a drink?” Crowley requested. By that time, Ash, Garth, and Bobby had stood up to form a half-circle behind John. Not making a verbal threat by any means.

John relaxed slowly, his white-knuckled fingers steadily releasing their hold on Crowley. No doubt he’d be bruised before night fell. He even went so far as to smooth the wrinkles from Crowley’s jacket.

“Dean, get us a drink.”

* * *

The whole exchange between Crowley and John didn’t scare you, but it was worrisome that someone would come in and blatantly make a claim to something that John had worked so hard for, something that didn’t belong to him.

Your feet were in the pool, kicking back and forth lazily, and Dean was next to you, stress smoking and legs bouncing. “You gonna tell me about that?”

Dean didn’t answer for a minute, too busy lighting a cigarette for you, which you gladly accepted. “Crowley had a thing for ma back in the day. Asked her out, she said yes. But when he got there, he found them kissing and lost his shit.”

“Can’t say I blame him,” you stated matter-of-factly.

“I don’t either,” Dean agreed, which sort of took you by surprise. “Ever since then, there’s been this battle, and neither of them will give a goddamn inch.”

Remembering what Dean said, you asked him, “What did you mean when you said I’m not for him to worry about?”

Dean was shaking his head and looking off into the distance. “Hey, we promised,” you reminded him. “No secrets. Always the truth.” He was still shaking his head, but he had turned to look at you. And that’s when you saw it; the raw hurt and treachery in his eyes. He had been hurt worse than you thought.

“Her name was Lisa,” he croaked. “Thought I was gonna spend my life with her.”

“What happened?”

Dean took a deep drag, so deep you thought his lungs would explode. He was fidgety as hell, legs bouncing, chewing on his bottom lip, picking at his nails, but then you grabbed his hand and squeezed. He blew out the smoke with a pained groan.

_Dean had been planning on proposing to Lisa for months, and after backing out at the last minute too many times, he finally decided to do it. He had a beautiful ring in his pocket, a cheesy picnic with a bottle of champagne all planned out. Only one problem. She never showed up._

_What he hadn’t known, was that Crowley was poisoning Lisa against him the entire time; brainwashing her into being with him just because she chose to be with a Winchester._

“You’re kidding me,” you cried. “That’s fuckin’ crazy.”

“Preachin’ to the choir,” Dean sighed. He ran a hand over his face and up through his hair.

There was a flash of something in your chest. Jealousy, maybe? Dean had obviously been deeply in love with Lisa. Would he… _could_  he ever feel that way about anyone every again? You didn’t get a chance to think on it further because Crowley and John came out.

Dean shot up and ran over, leaving you scrambling to follow him. Thanks to your wet feet, you slid to a stop next to Dean as the three of you watched Crowley and his crew leave. Mary and Sam came over quickly, waiting until the echoing of motorcycle mufflers could be heard.

“What does he want?” Mary inquired softly, hand tangled with John’s.

John ground his teeth before answering. “He wants everything.”


	7. Chapter 7

“He wants everything,” John sighed.

Mary’s brows pulled together and she was shaking her head. “I… what… what do you mean?”

John pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and took a drag. Blowing smoke out of his nose, he answered, “COLT, the house, the drugs, the guns; everything.”

“You told him he can’t have it, right, dad?” Dean asked loudly.

When John didn’t answer, Sam repeated his brother’s question, followed up with, “Please tell us you said no.”

“A’course I said no,” John muttered around the cigarette.

“Judging by the lack of gunshots and shouting, more than that was said,” you added softly, afraid that you were stepping on John’s toes. But he didn’t yell at you, didn’t so much as narrow his eyes.

“He gave me to the end of the month to come around,” John rasped, dark eyes settling on Mary.

Mary pulled the cigarette from John’s mouth and took a cocaine-laced drag. “Looks like we got work to do.”

* * *

Crowley settled into the plush chair at the head of the table and addressed the group. “Negotiations are under way for the acquisition of COLT.”

Rowena was striding around the room, her long, emerald green skirt swishing softly with each step. “Remind me again, my son, why does HELL need to obtain COLT.”

“Because, mother,” he sighed heavily. “With COLT out of the way, HELL can have complete and total control.”

“I know that, Fergus,” Rowena said in her thick, Scottish cadence. “But _why_? It’s not because of that Mary Winchester, is it?” Her rich laugh carried through the room and rubbed Crowley completely wrong.

He gnashed his teeth and leaned back in the chair. “Not everything I do is because of her.”

“If you say so,” Rowena breathed, arching a perfect brow and smirking at one the tattooed men her son was in charge of.

“Mother,” Crowley sighed. “Why are you here?”

She drew her small frame up even further as she continued to walk. Gracefully thin fingers clasped behind her back as she stood behind Crowley’s chair. “A mother cannot see her son at work?”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Crowley decided not to answer, instead, bringing up a newly discovered piece of information. “Dean seems to have moved on,” he said, watching Lisa for any kind of reaction. To her credit, she didn’t so much as breathe different.

Gadreeel, the newest member of HELL, asked, “Who is she?”

“Didn’t get a name,” he admitted, nails tapping the mahogany table.

“But you’re interested,” Gadreel observed, eyes narrowed and shoulders tightening.

Crowley nodded in agreement. “I’d like you to follow them,” he commanded after a minute of drawn out silence.

“Why me?” Gadreel asked, confusion heavy on his brow.

“You’re the new guy, Gad,” Crowley laughed, steepling his fingers by his chin. He wasn’t completely confident, but the feeling Crowley had upon meeting the mystery woman was one of familiarity. But it wasn’t by sight. It was from a story he had heard the first night Gadreel introduced himself.

* * *

While John, Dean, and Sam went outside, you and Mary cleaned up the kitchen. Conversation over dinner had been light, but the tension in the air almost made it feel forced, which made everyone uncomfortable. It felt like the room was too small and it was going to burst at the seams soon.

You watched out the window while you rinsed the dishes. Sam was shaking his head and clearly arguing with John. Dean tried, but failed to run interference. If looks could kill, John would have one less son.

“They always been like that?” you murmured, hoping that once again, you weren’t stepping on any toes.

Mary looked out the window and chuckled. “Yeah,” she replied. “Those two have always been buttin’ heads. Drives Dean crazy.”

“Are we going to have to break that up?” you asked in all seriousness.

With a piece of bacon in her mouth and giggling, she nudged you in the ribs with her elbow. “Absolutely not. They’re big boys, Y/N.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. After Mary shot you a wink, you finished filling the dishwasher while she wiped down the table and stove. By the time you were done, John was coming in with Sam on his heels.

“Dad, you can’t just-”

“Enough,” John roared, whirling around to face his son. “It’s not for you to decide, Sam.”

“But this is a family business,” he pressed. “ _Our_ family business. You can’t just expect us,” he motioned to himself, Dean, and Mary, “sit back while you give it up.”

John scraped a hand over his face, messing up his greying beard. “I’m only gonna say this one more time. Back off. I haven’t decided to do _anything_ yet.”

Mary stood next to her husband and rested a hand on his chest. “Come on, Johnny,” she pleaded softly. “Let’s go to bed.”

John’s chest continued to rise and fall rapidly as his heart thundered in his chest. He was entirely too worked up to have a rational conversation with either of his sons at the moment. What he really needed was a smoke and his woman, and not in that order. Not another word was said as John and Mary turned away and walked out of the kitchen.

Sam shook his head and muttered under his breath, “Un-fucking-believable.”

“Come on, Sammy,” Dean implored. “Just let the old man think about things before you say something you’ll regret.”

“Seriously?” Sam cried, spinning around to look down at his brother. “I can’t believe that you are just willing to sit back and watch him piss it all away!”

Dean’s jaw clenched and his eyes flashed emerald. “Watch it, Sam,” he threatened, and it didn’t sound like it was the first time to you.

You decided to step between them, acting as Mary had done, and rested your hand over Dean’s jack-hammering heart. “Take me for a ride,” you breathed. It shouldn’t be arousing, watching two grown ass men having an argument, testosterone thickening the air, making your stomach flip lazily, and your imagination wander.

The brothers stared at each other, their chests rising and falling, breathing through their noses, silently challenging the other, until finally, Sam rolled his eyes and brushed past Dean, bumping purposely into him. Dean stumbled back, wrapping an arm around your waist to keep you from tumbling to the floor.

Dean’s eyes were still flashing, so you took the opportunity to distract him from going after his brother by kissing him hungrily. His full lips slanted over yours, deepening the kiss, moaning hungrily as you sucked on his tongue. Your fingers were scraping over his scalp and neck while his were digging deep into the small of your back and ass, urging you impossibly closer.

Your broke the kiss to breathe, arching into him, into his touch, every inch of your body thrumming with unbridled want. Dean was kissing and sucking your neck, pulling small gasps from you, your eyes rolling back.

“You still wanna go for a ride?” he asked, desire thickening his words.

Bottom lip trapped between your teeth, you ground your hips to his. “More than you know.”

* * *

Dean, with your nails marking his back and your leg thrown over his shoulder, was buried balls deep in your dripping pussy. He had already made you cum twice; once with his hand, the second with his mouth. And the way things were going, the third was going to be mind-blowing.

You’d had sex before, been fucked so many different ways you’d lost count, but never had you been fucked so goddamn good that you had forgotten what day of the week it was. And then Dean’s thick cock was dragging in and out of you, stretching your walls, that delicious burn taking your breath away, and making your eyes cross.

He pounded into you relentlessly, his balls slapping your ass echoing the incessant squeaking of bedsprings, the headboard thump-thumping against the wall, and the way you were saying his name, telling him to fuck you, “harder and faster,” that you were just about there, you just needed…

Dean slid a hand between your sweat-slicked bodies and rubbed your clit with his calloused thumb. The blunt edge of his nail scraped over the throbbing bundle of nerves, instantly snapping the coil painfully, but in a never-want-it-to-end kind of way. You came with a shattered cry, your vision and hearing completely taken over by everything having to do with Dean and his cock and your pussy clamping onto him so tight that he hissed. His hips faltered, his knuckles turned white, and his shoulders bowed so he could see your orgasm shining on his cock, dripping off the ginger curls, and landing on your belly.

It was sinful, the way he swore and ground out your name. The pulse and twitch of his cock as he somehow buried himself deeper just as he came sent an aftershock through you that made your already overstimulated pussy constrict again. Dean stilled for a moment, grunting as if he’d been hit in the gut, his hips jerking once, twice, three times until he blew out a breath and your leg slipped from his shoulder, landing on the bed with a damp slap.

He didn’t crash onto the bed next to you, not when he needed to clean himself up. He disappeared into the bathroom while you laid there, gasping for air and pushing your hands through your now sweaty hair. Holy fucking shit! You could get used to getting fucked like that. Granted, you’d probably need to take up stretching or yoga or some healthy shit in order to keep up with Dean’s sexual appetite.

You sighed happy as his warm washcloth covered hand dipped between your legs, cleaning your thighs, pussy, and lower belly. “Thank you,” you breathed, still struggling to pull adequate oxygen.

Dean was on the bed a minute later, lying on his side, propped up on his elbow, drawing lazy circles on your belly. He hadn’t said anything before, but now that you were sprawled naked on his bed, the scar suddenly seemed to catch his attention.

“You gonna tell me about this?” he asked gently, somehow knowing it didn’t happen because you slipped and fell.

You drew in a ragged breath and ran a nail over the length of it.

_He had always been wild and a just a little scary, but that had been part of the reason you were drawn to him. You didn’t like the dumb jock that was the prom king. You liked the guy that beat up the dumb jock that was the prom king. It was a rush, the thrill of danger that coursed through you whenever his eyes went dark. But then there were times where he crossed the line, how those already viciously dark eyes would lose focus just a little bit. That was all it took for you to know that he had reached his breaking point, that it would take more than a shot of whiskey and a fuck to calm him down._

_It was your birthday and instead of having a day off and maybe getting a pedicure, you had to work. The shift was grueling and you had been on your feet for twelve of the last fourteen hours. But instead of being able to sit down and relax when you got home, he demanded that dinner be made._

_Normally, you would have obliged, even though it was your birthday and you were bone tired. But because it was both of those things and so much more, you said no. The next thing you knew, he had a knife in his hands and it was buried to the hilt in your stomach._

Dean was so angry, he was shaking. “Tell me he’s fuckin’ rotting in jail. Or dead. I’d rather he be dead.”

Smiling ruefully, you swiped away a rogue tear. “I wish,” you murmured. “He ran and they haven’t found him in the three years since.”

“Tell me his fuckin’ name,” Dean growled.

In an effort to try and calm your nerves, you pulled in a deep breath and blew it out your nose. Dean wasn’t going to stop, you could tell that much. It had been three years since you had said his name and it still left a foul taste on your tongue.

“Gadreel.”


	8. Chapter 8

Mary was on her knees, the side of her face pressed into the pillow, hands gripping the headboard tighter with every snap of her husband’s hips. John was behind her, one weathered hand between her shoulder blades, holding her down, the other was coming down every few seconds and slapping her ass, as if punishing her for some wrong deed. Which, technically she did. John didn’t grant permission for her to cum all over his face. He sneered and licked his lips, tasting the beads of it dripping off his mustache.

Her walls were fluttering around his cock, and her voice was strained with the effort of keeping her orgasm at bay. “P… please, Johnny,” she begged. “Let me cum.”

It was the way she said please that made his balls draw up painfully tight. With a slap to her ass that stung his fingers, he ground out his approval. Mary shattered beneath him, crying out a mantra of, “Shitshitshit, yes, Johnny,” as her hips bucked and her back arched. John’s hips lost all rhythm after that. He grabbed her hips and pulled her roughly into him, three, maybe four more times before his cock momentarily swelled impossibly thicker before filling her with his cum. They fell to the bed, sweaty and gasping for air, the ceiling fan on high to help cool them down.

Mary reached over and grabbed two cigarettes, lighting them both before handing John one. He swiped a hand over his sweaty face and muttered something resembling a thank you, settling into the pillows and messy blankets. The cocaine hit Mary faster than it used to. Maybe because of how rapidly her heart was still beating or the higher purity Benny was shipping out. Whatever it was, it only made Mary want to do more.

“What’re you thinkin’ ‘bout, Johnny?” Mary asked softly, her dilated pupils watching the ceiling fan with renewed fascination.

John grunted in irritation and blew smoke out his nose. “I don’t wanna give anything up,” he admitted, free hand searching for hers amidst the sea of wrinkled sheets.

Mary sighed in contentment when their fingers tangled together. “So don’t. You worked hard get here,” she praised, squeezing his hand. “‘Member what COLT was when it first started?”

“Me ‘n you, baby,” John breathed.

“COLT ain’t what it used to be; you and me sittin’ at a table with Bobby, Ellen, and Bill, talkin’ bullshit and dreamin’ ‘bout what it could be.” Mary sighed as she reminisced. “Those were the days, huh?”

“They sure were,” he agreed, pulling more cocaine-tainted smoke into his lungs.

“You gonna let anyone, let alone Crowley, come and threaten everything you worked for?” Mary demanded.

John almost choked on the smoke. “Fuck no,” was his gruff and final answer.

“Well, alright then. We best get ready, then. You know he ain’t goin’ down without a fight.”

“What would I do without you?” he asked gruffly, trying, but failing, to hide a smirk.

Mary rolled to her side, unashamed of her body and the way certain body parts had lost their elasticity. “Crash and burn,” Mary answered, running her foot along John’s calf, giggling excitedly when John growled at her.

* * *

Over the next couple of days, Gadreel followed Dean and his new flame around, but no matter how hard he tried, he hadn’t been successful in seeing her face. There was something eerily familiar about her, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. And then one day, he hit the fucking jackpot.

It was the way she giggled excitedly when Dean surprised her outside of work one day. He ripped off his sunglasses and stared with wide eyes at the site of the woman he stabbed three years ago, the woman he was head over heels in love with.

Unbridled rage rolled through him, like the sea when there’s a storm, vengeful and ready to kill everyone in its path. Gadreel’s entire body was thrumming with it, the need to pummel the son of a bitch that was kissing and groping Y/N. What was worse, she was kissing him back just as fervently and grabbing at his ass like she wanted to fuck him right there on his motorcycle.

He grinned wickedly when he remembered doing just that with her when they first started dating. Even had the engine running a couple of times. Shit, she was a good fuck, the best he had ever had. And now she was jumping on the back of someone else’s bike, calling herself their bitch instead of his.

What Gadreel needed to do was tell Crowley. 

What Gadreel did was turn on his bike and follow them.

* * *

Your hands were tangled in Dean’s hair, tugging on the sweat-dampened strands impatiently as his lips and nose ran along your sensitive skin. “That tickles,” you sputtered, pushing your head deeper into his pillow.

After inhaling the cocaine, Dean licked any residue from your skin, giving a playful bite before looking up at you between the valley of your breasts. With dilating pupils, hands on both sides of your hips, and perched on his knees, Dean looked like a predator ready to attack his prey. And God help you, it was the hottest fucking thing you had ever seen.

You were licking your lips hungrily when you spied some cocaine dust on the end of his nose. “You plan on sharing?” you asked, hoping you didn’t sound too pitiful.

Dean grinned wickedly as he reached over to the table, and pulled out another small vial filled with the powdery substance you were craving. “This what you want, beautiful?”

“Please,” you downright begged, wrapping your legs around his waist and using him for leverage to make the transition from lying down to sitting up a little easier.

Dean shifted between your legs, barely biting back a moan. “That’s a good girl,” he praised as he opened the vial and poured some onto the back of your hand.

You could literally feel the weight of Dean’s gaze as you snorted the powder off your hand. It was a natural reaction, to hiss and pinch the bridge of your nose as it burned its way down, to fall back onto the bed and writhe as it hit your bloodstream, pulsing through you, pushing small bursts of electricity through your skin. You’d never been this fucking high before, and fuck, you [i]always[i] wanted to be this high.

Everything was so much better when the cocaine was rushing through you at the speed of light. Dean’s calloused touch was like sandpaper, buffing away all your imperfections, his already plush lips were even more so, feeling like pillows on your breasts, tugging the nipples between his perfect fucking teeth with just a roll of his tongue. Then there was his cock. My God, what a beautiful sight to behold. It was long and thick, weeping happily as he pressed into you. You felt every ridge, every pulsing vein, it was like velvet stretched taut over rock solid muscle, dragging gloriously against your walls.

He was buried to the root and watching you with dark eyes as he sat back on his knees. Large hands grabbed your hips and rolled them, pulling a drawn-out moan from deep within you. You would have loved to take your time, to feel every-fucking-thing compounded because of the cocaine, but Dean had a different plan.

“Legs open,” he instructed as his eyes dropped; he wanted to watch as he fucked you.

You obliged, even going so far as to reach down and hook your hands behind your knees, spreading yourself wide open, presenting yourself like an all-Dean-could-fuck buffet.

Your name sounded like sin when, because of your hips opening wider, you took him deeper. Dean’s fingers dug deeper into your flesh, pulling blood to the surface, and you knew you’d be bruised, but you didn’t care. You rolled your hips and almost came at the sight of pure ecstasy on Dean’s face. That somewhat relaxed ecstasy quickly turned into concentration as he started to pull out, only to pound into you. It was like a punch to the gut, a glorious punch to the gut that pushed the air from your lungs.

It was all grunts and groans, words of encouragement and praise that got lost amidst the wet slap of skin on skin. It was getting to be too much, you felt like you couldn’t breathe, but in a fucking good way; it only drew the coil tighter.

“Come on, baby,” Dean urged, his breath tearing in and out of him.

His gruff voice was what sent you reeling. That, and the way he tilted your hips, brushing your g-spot with his swollen cock-head. You came with a ragged shout of his name, your head thrashing on his pillow, your knuckles were white, and your feet were arched painfully; all of it only throwing gasoline on the fire.

With his head thrown back and his back arching, Dean came, grunting in satisfaction at just how blissed out you were. His hips stuttered, losing their rhythm as he cock pulsed, spilling his cum deep inside you, grinding in euphoric-approval as the mixture seeped out, spilling onto the bed below.

You were still writhing when Dean pushed off the bed and grabbed a wet washcloth from the bathroom to clean you up. He was much more gentle than he had been a minute ago, even placing a kiss just low enough that his whisker-kissed chin brushed against your over-sensitive clit. Panting heavily, you pushed up to your elbows and watched through heavy lids as he strode into the bathroom.

“I feel like swimming,” you announced happily, already pushing off the bed despite the deep ache that came after a good fuck.

“Oh yeah?” he asked, bending down to grab the cigarettes from his pants.

You were surprised at how well your legs supported you as you made your way to him, pulling a cigarette out for yourself. “Join me,” you suggested.

“Lead the way,” he declared, slapping your ass as you bent over to grab his shirt.

* * *

Gadreel watched as Y/N peeled out of the borrowed shirt -he only knew it was borrowed because who the fuck listens to Led Zeppelin anymore- and jump into the pool with an excited shriek. He was lost in a trance, if only for a moment, at the sight at her nakedness, how her skin held that freshly-fucked glow. But that moment was broken the second Dean Winchester joined her.

A different kind of thrill rushed through him. This one was the one he felt the night he grabbed the knife and plunged it hilt-deep into Y/N’s stomach. The same one that made his dick go hard at the sight and smell of blood.

There weren’t a lot of things Gadreel regretted. But the one regret he did have was not finishing the job by not gutting Y/N like a fish and bathing in her blood.


	9. Chapter 9

Meg’s teasing voice broke into your thoughts, pulling you from a very Dean-centric daydream. “Earth to Y/N,” she called, snapping her fingers an inch from your face. “Come in, Y/N!”

The short brunette quickly came into focus and you couldn’t help but laugh with her. “Sorry, Meg,” you immediately apologized, your face growing warm.

“Dean again, huh?” Meg asked, wiggling her brows playfully.

You nudged her hip as she leaned back against the desk. “Can you blame me?”

“Fuck no,” she professed. “He ain’t even mine and God knows I do my share of dreamin’ ‘bout him.”

If it had been anyone but Meg admitting to dreaming about Dean, you’d have lost your shit. But the fact was you trusted Meg implicitly. She wasn’t related to you by blood, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t your sister. She was your chosen family. That shit actually meant something.

“I was gonna go out for some drinks one of these nights,” Meg said, tucking some wayward curls behind her ear. “Been awhile since we’ve had a girl’s night.”

“Yeah,” you breathed. “I’d love that!”

A large bouquet of flowers turned the corner, and then you noticed the legs of Cole, the security guard. He set them on the desk with, muttering under his breath, “Ain’t no goddamn delivery service.”

You and Meg were laughing, moving things out of the way. “When did you get a second job?” you teased, knowing damn well he hated doing anything other than his job.

Cole shot you a playful glare. “Funny, Y/N. Real fuckin’ funny.”

Meg was rifling through the flowers in search of a card. “You happen to know who they’re from?”

“He didn’t say,” Cole admitted, brow furrowing slightly under the suddenly intense stare of Meg. It wasn’t like Cole to let something like that slide. “Just that they were for Y/N.”

That’s when you noticed what kind of flowers they were and your chest went tight. Lilies. Only one person bought you lilies, especially when he wanted to prove his… devotion.

“Wh- when were they d- delivered?” you rasped, mouth dry as cotton.

Meg’s hand was on your wrist, grounding you, keeping you from falling over. “Y/N, what is it?”

“When were they delivered, Cole?” you snapped.

Cole swallowed painfully before answering, “A couple minutes ago.”

 _Shitshitshit!_ Without another word, you tore off down the way Cole had come, eyes scanning every face you passed, muttering a prayer you hadn’t said in years. Cole’s rubber-soled shoes squeaked on the grimy linoleum as he followed you down the maze of hallways, past the security desk, and into the blinding sunshine. It took a moment for your eyes to adjust, and as soon as they did, you took in every bit of your surroundings.

And then you saw him.

Gadreel was across the street, straddling his motorcycle, and revving the engine. He shot you a wink and blew a kiss before tearing off down the street, leaving a trail of burned rubber behind him.

Meg was next to you, hand on your heaving shoulder, and asking, “That was him, wasn’t it?”

You couldn’t answer. Not when your heart was in your throat and it was pounding a hundred sixty beats per minute. All you could do was nod and try to keep from crying. With shaking hands, you reached for Meg’s outstretched one, going back inside with Cole trailing you, looking over his shoulder for Gadreel.

* * *

Several hours later, you had given a report to the police, security had sworn on a stack of Bibles they would keep a watchful eye out, and Meg insisted you take some time off. You tried arguing with her, but in the end, you agreed. But you couldn’t stay at home. Even though you were pretty sure he didn’t know where you lived, you didn’t feel safe. So you packed up some clothes and toiletries, and headed to the one place you did feel safe; the Winchester house.

You’d been trying to get a hold of Dean ever since the flowers arrived, but it kept going to voicemail. Rather than leave a message, you tried calling Sam. And John. Then Mary.

“Can _no one_ answer their goddamn phone?” you huffed. It wasn’t like you thought they’d turn you away, you just needed to hear one of them tell you that everything was going to be alright. Preferably, you wanted to hear Dean say it, but right now, you weren’t too damn picky about it.

You waited until the bus drove past to cross the street and jog down the block, telling yourself that he wasn’t behind you, stalking you, terrifying you. But the hair on the back of your neck was prickling and there was sweat rolling down your spine. You broke into a full run, all but sliding into the front door after leaping up the stairs. Your frantic knocks went unanswered, so you tried the knob, heaving out a ragged sigh of relief when it turned easily in your hand. You slammed the door and threw all the locks, then rested your head on the door and worked on getting your breathing under some sort of control. It took longer than you would have liked, but you were safe right now. That was what mattered.

Standing tall, you dropped your [**_bag_**](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.ebags.com%2Fhproduct%2Ftsd%2Fturtle-ridge-backpack%2F306192%3Fproductid%3D10396274%26sourceid%3DCSEPVORE%26couponid%3D94790994%26utm_source%3Dpolyvore%26utm_medium%3Dcse%26utm_campaign%3DCSE_Polyvore%26CAWELAID%3D120011660002508493&t=MmY2YjgzYzRiMTdmMmFkYzYwNzcxZTlmNzljMmE5NzlkNTUwMDc2MixpT0VwYUtacA%3D%3D&b=t%3ACfmOVX62N1SvYXISFQBhgQ&p=http%3A%2F%2Fmrs-squirrel-chester.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F157869128112%2Fsons-of-lawrence-9&m=1) next to the couch and pushed up the ¾ sleeves of your **_[shirt](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.polyvore.com%2Fkit_mccall_remember_what_it%2Fset%3Fid%3D215228818&t=ZjMyYWQwYmQyNzcxNmFmYzNjZTM3ZWRlNzk4MGY3MTQxNGJkNGI0NixpT0VwYUtacA%3D%3D&b=t%3ACfmOVX62N1SvYXISFQBhgQ&p=http%3A%2F%2Fmrs-squirrel-chester.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F157869128112%2Fsons-of-lawrence-9&m=1)._** “Mary, you here?” you called out, walking deeper into the house. “I, uh, hope you don’t mind that I let myself in.” Nothing. No answer. You didn’t know whether to be worried or if this was normal.

“Mare?” you bellowed, standing at the bottom of the staircase and craning your neck to look upstairs without actually _going_ upstairs. Again, no answer. Deciding that nothing was wrong, you crossed the room and dropped onto the plush couch, sighing contentedly as it surrounded you. Your head fell back and your lids closed.

You didn’t know what it was that woke you. Just a small noise that hadn’t been there before, amidst the quiet hum of the air conditioning or the water heater or any other fucking noise a house would make. You were off the couch and crossing the room a heartbeat later, eyes scanning everywhere, but not seeing anything out of the ordinary.

There it was again. This time, you ran down the hall and opened the door. Rather, you tried to open the door. There was something on the other side, something that was lying on the floor, something that looked an awful lot like Mary.

“Fuck,” you shouted, panic clawing in your chest. With your back against the door, you used your legs for leverage and pushed as hard as you could. It’s not that Mary was big or you were weak, but moving dead weight was a bitch.

“Mary! Talk to me,” you demanded, voice straining with the effort it was taking to open the door, to move the body just enough that you could get in the room.

After a minute, or fifteen, Mary’s body shifted just enough, and you were in the room faster than you could blink. The door creaked closed as you dropped to your knees and rolled Mary to her back.

“Holy shit,” you gasped. Mary was white, pale as a ghost, a blue tint to her lips and nose.

Pushing two fingers into her neck, you searched frantically for a pulse and muttering, “Come on, come on, come on.”

Not finding one, you pushed the hair from her forehead and pushed open her eyes, trying to see how her pupils would react. Nothing. They remained dilated and fixed. “Shit,” you cried. This was bad. This was fucking bad.

With shaking hands, you started CPR; compressions first, then a breath. You lost count of how many times you compressed or how many times you expanded her lungs, but you didn’t stop.

“Don’t do this, Mary,” you begged, fat tears rolling down your cheeks and off your chin.

It was when you went to give her another puff of oxygen that her eyes snapped open and she pulled in a back-from-the-other-side rattling breath.

* * *

Mary was lying in bed, still pale, but her heart was beating and she was breathing much better now. She fought you tooth and nail on going to the hospital, saying, “I ain’t dead, sweetheart.”

“You were, Mary,” you pointed out, as if she had somehow missed the memo. “You were fucking dead!”

With a wave of her shaking hand, she ended the going-to-the-hospital conversation, but that didn’t mean you were done grilling her.

You sat on the edge of the bed and took her pulse from her wrist. “What happened?” you asked gently.

She reached inside her shirt, pulled out her necklace, and showed it to you. “Took too much,” Mary murmured, twisting the cap open to show you her habit.

“I thought… Dean told me-” you started, but she cut you off.

“Just something we’ve told the kids to keep the peace. Stupid, I know…” her voice trailed off before she yawned.

You shook your head and squeezed her hand. “No, I get it. I do. You were just trying to protect the ones you love.”

John called out from the kitchen, “Baby, you here?”

You met him in the hallway and his eyes went wide with panic. “What happened?” he demanded, voice gruff and shoulders tense.

“She’s fine, John,” you tried assuring him, but he brushed past you easily.

He rushed into their room and dropped onto the bed where you had just been sitting. Mary was in his arms and she was crying softly while John asked, “Are you ok? Tell me what happened.”

Dean’s voice made you spin on your heel. “Come on, old man,” he joked, his laughter drifting down the hall. “Can’t leave us to carry all this shit.”

“He’s always had us do the heavy liftin’,” Sam added, groaning when something heavy hit the floor.

Wringing your hands, you came around the corner and tried your damnedest to smile. Dean took one look at you and knew something was wrong. He didn’t ask what happened before he barrelled past you with Sam close behind him.

Even though he could tell exactly what happened, it didn’t stop Dean from demanding, “What the fuck happened?” his  voice shaking with barely controlled rage.

You pushed into the much smaller room, thanks to having three large Winchester men occupying most of the space, and forced yourself between Dean and his father. But that didn’t stop Dean from getting in his father’s face.

“You fuckin’ promised,” he screamed, face red and hands balled into fists. “Swore you’d keep her nose clean!”

With your hands on both their chests, you tried pushing them apart, but it wasn’t working. “Dean, stop it,” you commanded.

“Listen to her, son,” John begged.

Dean was close to pushing you out of the way, you could see it in the way his dark eyes flicked down to you before settling on his father once again. “You’re a fuckin’ liar,” he spat, vitriol dripping off his words.

“Come on, Dean,” Sam urged, grabbing Dean’s arm and pulling. The hurt and betrayal was heavy on Sam’s brow, but right now, he was keeping his cool. He and John might have gotten into many fights, but it wouldn’t do any good if both of the Winchester sons were seeing red.

Every inch of Dean was shaking, his breathing was ragged, tearing in and out of him, flaring his nostrils. He was like a caged animal and you knew he was going to pounce soon. Sam knew it, too, and used every ounce of his strength to pull Dean back. That’s when he broke. Dean’s face went crimson and he let loose a shout of unbridled rage that sent you reeling back into John’s chest.

John’s hand was on your shoulder as the three of you watched Sam drag Dean, kicking and screaming, from the room, through the kitchen, and out the back door. The silence was deafening as you stood there and tried gathering yourself.

Mary found your hand and squeezed it, drawing your attention to her and her husband. John was the one that spoke. “Thank you, Y/N,” he said thickly, emotion choking him. He gave you a tight hug before releasing you.

“I’ll um… just see what’s going on,” you mumbled, seeing yourself out of the room and shutting the door quietly behind you.

You could hear the brothers yelling, each voice steadily growing louder and louder, the words meaner and darker than you thought possible. You jogged through the house and out the back door, finding them in the middle of the garage, spitting words at each other.

“I can’t believe you’re taking his fuckin’ side,” Dean screamed, hands shaking as he paced.

Sam was mirroring his brother, trying to make sure he could stop Dean should he try and make a break for the house. “I’m not taking his side, Dean,” Sam tried assuring him. “I just… fuck, did you even _see_ mom?”

“Dad’s been lyin’ to us for fucking _years_ , Sammy,” Dean was shouting.

You threw your head back and yelled, “So did Mary!”

Both men whirled around, eyes wide and shoulders tight. “You need to leave, Y/N,” Dean ground out.

“No,” was your frustrated answer. “I found your mother, without a pulse,” you confessed, tears pricking behind your eyes, emotion clogging your throat.

Sam scrubbed a hand over his face. “Jesus, Y/N,” he breathed.

You ignored Sam for the most part. “I’m the one that forced my way into the room because her body was in front of the door. I’m the one that gave her CPR. I’m the one that brought her back to life. Yeah, they fucking lied to you about how she’s been snorting coke since she was in high school, but so the fuck what? Your mother fucking _died_ today!”

Dean didn’t so much as flinch at your words, he just stood there and stared at you, unmoving like a goddamn statue. And then he blinked, pulled in a deep breath, jammed a hand into his pocket, and stormed over to his bike.

“Dude, come on,” Sam called out.

Dean’s only answer was the loud roar of the engine as he turned the key. He didn’t even look over his shoulder as he sped away.


	10. Chapter 10

It was after Mary had fallen asleep that you decided to tell John and Sam about Gadreel. Dean still hadn’t returned, but you couldn’t keep it to yourself any longer.

You were pulling a deep drag from your second cocaine-laced cigarette and your leg was bouncing nervously under the intense gaze from two very intimidating men.

“This man,” John started, voice rough with barely keeping his emotions under control. “You saw him?”

“Today,” you said tremulously. “He delivered a bouquet of flowers; lilies. They were my favorite, until…” your voice trailed off as you stood and showed them your scar-adorned stomach.

While both men had their share of scars, they hissed and winced as if they themselves felt the pain. Then, there eyebrows drew together and dark rage rolled into their eyes. Sam, who was sitting next to you, reached out and ran his thumb over the scar. You did your best not to wince -it still hurt every now and then- or pull away from his inquisitive touch.

“Serrated butcher knife,” you muttered, answering his unasked question. “Pushed it in to the hilt, and then pulled.” Using Sam’s finger, you demonstrated what happened.

“Son of a bitch,” John snarled. “Until Gad is dealt with, you’re staying here, Y/N.”

Sam was nodding almost violently in agreement. “We won’t let you outta our sight.”

Your hands were shaking as you pulled your shirt down. “I don’t want to intrude. I mean…” you waved a hand in the direction of where Mary was sleeping.

John stood, rounded the small table, and grabbed your shoulders. “You’re not intruding. Besides, you saved Mary. The least I could do is offer you a safe haven.” He pulled you into him and wrapped his arms around you, hugging you tightly, only to release you a moment later when the three of you heard Mary call out.

You smiled up at him and stepped out of his embrace. You and Sam watched John disappear before Sam asked, “Wanna sit by the pool?”

Nodding, you followed him outside and dropped heavily into a chair. Sam sat next to you and handed you a freshly lit cigarette. The silence was starting to grow awkward before Sam cleared his throat. 

“Y/N,” Sam started, swallowing hard before continuing. “He’ll be back. He just needs to cool down a bit.”

“I get it,” you muttered, flicking ash into the breeze and watching it flutter away. You weren’t really lying just then; you did understand why Dean tore off like a bat outta hell. His mother had just died. Granted, you brought her back, but that didn’t change what had happened.

As if reading your thoughts, Sam huffed and ran a hand through his slightly unruly hair. “I uh… thank you,” he stammered. It took a moment to clear the emotion from his voice. “For saving my mom.”

You blew out a heavy breath, suddenly feeling tired. “Just doing my job, Sam.”

You tried waving off his attempt to say it again, but he grabbed your hand and gave it a firm squeeze. “I mean it, Y/N. Thank you. I don’t even want to think about what we’d be doing right now had you not found her.”

Squeezing his hand in return, you took a long drag and settled back into the chair. “You uh… you think I should call him?” You almost hated asking the question. The last thing you wanted was to sound like a clingy girlfriend.

Sam followed your lead, smoking and leaning back in his chair. “If he’s not back by morning, yeah.”

“Alright,” you murmured, relaxing as the drug pumped through your system. Once again, your attention was drawn to the stars, especially the ones that were falling. “Will you stay out here with me for a while?”

“A’course, Y/N,” Sam answered, crossing his legs at the ankles and settling deeper into the chair. He watched you from the corner of his eye, smiling gently when you sighed and stared at the multi-colored sky as the sun began to descend.

* * *

The bike slid to a stop, spitting gravel as it went. Dean turned it off and quickly dismounted, all but running away and tearing the black helmet off, dropping it to the ground as he stumbled, just enough to force him to his knees. He hadn’t know when he started crying, but now that he felt the fat tears dripping off his chin, he couldn’t stop. They landed on his thighs, soaking into the denim so that he felt the material grew heavy on his skin, sticking to it. He scraped a hand over his face, groaning loudly in frustration.

His mother had died. And not because of a riding accident or because she tried breaking up a fight or someone breaking into their house. It was because of an addiction he had no idea she had. An addiction, his father had sworn to keep her safe from. What else had they kept from him?

“FUCK,” he screamed, throwing his head back and punching his thighs. He could stay there, shouting at no one, into the darkening sky until his voice was gone, but he knew he wasn’t the only one hurting. He remembered the look on Sam’s face, in his eyes; afraid of losing his mother, anger at their father, relief when Mary was alive.

And all because of, “Y/N,” he whispered raggedly.

He shouldn’t have driven off. He shouldn’t have left his brother. He shouldn’t have left her. She was barely keeping herself together, he could see it in the way her shoulders were shaking and there was a wild look in her eyes. Fear, maybe? Whatever it was, he needed to go back.

* * *

You must have fallen asleep at some point because you didn’t even hear the rumble of Dean’s motorcycle as it sped up the road and slid to a stop in the driveway. You didn’t hear Sam get up and run to his brother, and you didn’t hear them approach. You didn’t wake until Dean was running his hand over your face and saying your name.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he uttered, nudging your legs to the side so he could sit.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and whispered into his neck, “It’s alright.” Were your feelings hurt when he drove off, rage and fear simmering just below the surface? Hell yeah, but you didn’t hold it against him.

Pulling back, he looked at you, eyes scanning every inch of your face. He must have seen something unsettling, because his brows furrowed. “What happened?”

“Your mom-” Dean cut you off with a shake of his head.

“No, not that. Something else happened,” Dean declared, a dark edge to his concerned tone.

You chewed harshly on your bottom lip and looked past Dean. This was harder than you thought it would be. Telling John and Sam was different than the man you were quickly falling in love with. Dean hooked a finger under your chin and moved your head until your eyes met.

“It’s Gadreel,” you revealed, your voice thick with fear. “He’s back and… he…,” you trailed off, not wanting to say what had been bouncing around in your head all afternoon.

Dean clenched his jaw and shook his head. “He ain’t gettin’ near you. I’ll kill him first,” he promised, and you knew that he was a man of his word.

* * *

Gadreel was smiling wide and humming to himself as he marched into the Crowley’s office.

“Well, someone looks happy,” Crowley observed, leaning back in the plush chair.

“I found her,” Gadreel announced. He dropped into a chair and kicked his feet up onto Crowley’s desk.

Crowley arched his brow. “By her, I assume you mean Dean’s girl.”

Gadreel chuckled, shifting deeper into the chair. “She’ll be mine again before you get control of COLT,” he announced confidently.

“I was right,” Crowley murmured lowly. “It’s Y/N, isn’t it?”

“This time, I’ll finished what I started.” He was smirking wickedly, as was Crowley.

“I enjoy a happy ending,” Crowley rasped.


	11. Chapter 11

The meeting had started only been in session for a few minutes when John tapped on the table with the side of his [**_ring_**](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fwww1.bloomingdales.com%2Fshop%2Fproduct%2Fdavid-yurman-skull-ring-with-carved-meteorite%3FID%3D1112395%26cm_mmc%3DPolyvore-_-Mens-_-David%2520Yurman-883932633191USA-_-men%2527s%2520rings%26CAWELAID%3D120156070002513108&t=NmNlZjg3N2FjZTljMTcxN2EwZjc5YmY0MjExYmUxODMwYjMwYjMzNCw4QzFnSTNsTw%3D%3D&b=t%3ACfmOVX62N1SvYXISFQBhgQ&p=http%3A%2F%2Fmrs-squirrel-chester.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F158363414182%2Fsons-of-lawrence-11&m=1), the one Mary had given him when they first formed COLT. Everyone around the table immediately stopped talking and turned their attention to their leader, eyes full of curiosity at the stony look on his face.

“I know that everyone has been on edge since Crowley showed up last week. But after talking with Mary and the boys,” John grabbed his wife’s hand and nodded at Dean and Sam. “We came to the conclusion that it ain’t gonna happen.”

Several of the men clapped and gave jovial shouts while the others tapped their own rings on the table in approval. Not that they thought John would ever give up control of COLT, but Crowley was knew how to play a mean game.

Ellen waited for a moment before standing to claim, “It ain’t gonna be easy, John.”

“I know that Ellen,” John agreed with his best friend’s wife. “I’ve known the man my whole life, and I know what he is capable of. Leave Crowley to me, I can handle him.”

You swallowed thickly when John’s heavy gaze fell to you. “But Crowley isn’t who we need to worry about right now,” he added, a different kind of darkness to his voice.

“What do you mean, John?” Bobby asked, after Ellen took her seat next to him.

John waited until you nodded before saying the name that made you shiver. “He is from Y/N’s past and he’s incredibly dangerous.”

Garth scoffed loudly. “Can’t be that dangerous if Y/N is here today.”

“Trust me,” you growled. “It was a touch and go situation for a while.” You stood and lifted your shirt, revealing the birthday present from Gadreel. Dean’s hand was on yours, slowly urging your [**_shirt_**](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.marissacollections.com%2Fshop%2Findex.php%2Fjersey-open-back-twist-tank-4c991115a5-030-tw-292147.html%3Futm_source%3Dpolyvore%26utm_medium%3Dcpc%26utm_campaign%3Dtank%2520tops&t=Y2QxZWEyMzkwMWU4OThhYzIxNGMyZTk3ZTk3ZDE1YjM2Y2NjMTBjMSw4QzFnSTNsTw%3D%3D&b=t%3ACfmOVX62N1SvYXISFQBhgQ&p=http%3A%2F%2Fmrs-squirrel-chester.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F158363414182%2Fsons-of-lawrence-11&m=1) down after everyone had seen the angry scar that took up most of your lower stomach.

“It’s ok, Y/N,” he whispered low enough that no one but you could hear him.

Your gaze was settled upon Garth, watching as his face fell and flushed in embarrassment. Only when he apologized did you sit down. “He’s already made me very aware that he fully intends to do everything in his power to… to get me back.”

“How’s that?” Ruby asked, genuinely curious and deeply concerned.

“Lilies,” you answered. “A bouquet of lilies were delivered to the hospital.”

It was Jo’s turn to scoff. “Flowers,” she said sarcastically.

You leveled her with a dark gaze. “Yeah, Jo. Flowers. Flowers that used to be my favorite. Peruvian lilies, to be exact. Because those flowers represent devotion. Gad would send them to me after a fight. Those fights quickly escalated so he would send them to me after punching me so hard I blacked out, after grabbing my hair and pulling out chunks of it, after kicking me in the ribs and breaking three of them. I could go on, but I think y’all get the point. If he would have gotten what he wanted that night, I’d be dead.”

Dean grabbed your hand and squeezed before turning to face Jo. “This isn’t a game, kid. Get over yourself and grow the fuck up.”

“Fuck off, Winchester,” Jo snarled, hands balling into fists at her side.

“Shut up, Jo,” John shouted, making the younger woman jump back. “This ain’t about you or your stupid jealousy. Another outburst like that and you’re out,” he threatened.

She settled her gaze on John and smirked. “You can’t do that.”

Ellen whirled in her seat. “Joanna Beth,” she rasped, completely taken aback at Jo’s insurgence.

“Enough!” John’s baritone voice echoed in the room, making everyone lean back in their seats. His eyes were still on Jo, but his words were meant for everyone. “Y/N will be staying with us until this… issue is dealt with. In the meantime, we still have work to do. There’s a shipment of guns-”

You filtered out John’s voice and focused on Dean. He wasn’t paying attention to you, not really. His amber and whiskey eyes would flick to yours every so often and he’d shoot you a wink that made you weak in the knees. You squeezed his hand and, even though you knew you shouldn’t, risked a glance at Jo.

Turned out, she was already looking at you. Probably had been ever since John changed the conversation from personal to professional. Her dark eyes were drilling into yours, and the murderous rage in her eyes just confirmed your deduction that, given the chance, she’d kill you. Rather than look away, your arched a brow and leaned in to kiss Dean on the cheek.

Dean chuckled as your lips whispered over his week old stubble. He turned and caught your lips with his, sucking greedily on your bottom lip. You slanted your mouth, allowing the kiss to deepen. And deepen it, Dean did. Your surroundings fell away as the taste and smell of Dean took over. Your fingers were scraping through his hair and he was pulling your chair closer to his.

And then Jo was screaming and storming out.

Ellen tried to follow, but Bobby’s hand was on hers and he was telling her to, “Just leave her, El. She’ll cool down eventually.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, giving her husband’s hand a squeeze. “I just wish she’d learn.”

Mostly everyone in the room gave a nod of agreement, some even voicing their dislike of the small blonde woman.

John heaved a sigh before inquiring, “Everyone knows what they’re doin’ tomorrow, right?” There was a collective answer of agreement before John tapped his ring on the table, effectively ending the meeting.

You were standing up when John said your name. “Since we’re all going tomorrow,” he started, eyes quickly darting over to Mary. “Would you like to ride with us?”

“Yeah,” you answered briskly. “I would really like that.”

* * *

Jo tore off on her bike carelessly, the back tire skidding on some loose gravel at the end of the driveway. She recovered easily and rushed down the road towards the other side of town. The buildings and people whipped by, blurring together as Jo increased her speed even more. She wasn’t worried about getting pulled over; she could get out of any ticket or warning, nor was she worried about getting into an accident.

She pulled to a stop, dismounted, and ripped off her helmet, shoving it into one of the saddlebags. Her hair was slightly tangled, so she ran her hands through it as she walked into the building. People called after her, asking her where she was going and that she needed an appointment. But she paid none of them any mind.

Wearing a wicked smirk, Jo pushed open the door, slamming it right in the face of some woman with a very red face.

“Well Joanna,” Crowley mused, blowing smoke out of his nose. “To what do I owe the honor?”

She strutted over to him, pulled the cigarette from his lips, and took a lazy drag. Crowley sat back and watched as she smoked, her eyes never leaving his. Jo took a few more drags before placing it back where she found it.

“I hear you’ve got someone in HELL that has their eyes set on Y/N,” she announced.

“Indeed, love,” Crowley admitted, his dark eyes sparkling with curiosity.

Jo hummed in approval and sat on the edge of his desk, crossing her legs once comfortable. “What if I told you that I could give you a time and place Y/N will be?”

Crowley moved closer to Jo, his interest clearly piqued. “I would very much like to hear what you have to say.”

She pulled out her own cigarette, which Crowley made a grand show of lighting. “So, there’s this shipment of guns…”

* * *

It was after dinner and Dean was lying on his back. Y/N was straddling him, bouncing up and down, fucking him until he felt like he couldn’t breathe. He grabbed her hips and pulled her down harder and harder, using his feet as leverage to thrust up. She was leaning back, her fingers digging into his thighs, lust-filled eyes rolling back, and curses spilling from her mouth.

“Come on, baby,” he rasped, his hips faltering and his heart thundering in his chest.

Her back arched painfully and her thighs started quaking. “Oh shit, shit, shit,” she murmured before she let go and came all over Dean’s cock.

It spilled out with a _squelch_ as Dean pounded relentlessly into her, watching her slick shine on his cock and her inner thighs. He could feel it on his belly, balls, and thighs, smell it in the air. All of that mixed together, pushed Dean over the edge. He came with a shout of her name as every muscle in his body went rigid.

Y/N fell onto his chest, her breasts sliding in the sweat they worked up. They’re hearts hammered almost in sync and it was impossible not to gasp or moan when an aftershock rolled through either one of them. She stayed there until he had gone soft, only moving when she was sure she wouldn’t fall over.

Dean watched her ass as she walked into the bathroom to clean up. Sighing happily as his eyes started to flutter shut, Dean started to think about the possibility of settling down. Never before had he met someone like her and he found that it physically hurt to even just think about not having her in his life.

While Y/N had been around his kind of scene before, she wasn’t born into it like he was. Her parents held 9 - 5 jobs and worked hard to give her a ‘normal’ childhood. She went to nursing school at night and worked a full-time job during the day; hardly having time to sleep. Then she met Gadreel and fell head over heels in love with him, not knowing just how dark he really was. His behavior changed once they moved in together.

She had her demons and baggage, but so did Dean. Her normalcy completed him in some weird way that probably would have sent him running for the hills if he were younger. But there he was, in his early 30’s, being bred to take over the family business. He needed to feel… normal. And with her, that’s exactly how he felt.

Her hand was in his hair and she was kissing him sweetly. “You should clean up,” she instructed, resting a warm washcloth on his belly.

Dean smiled against her lips. “What d’ya say we get married,” he proposed, running his fingers along her jaw.

“Yeah?” she breathed, her lips pulling up at the corners.

When Dean nodded, his nose brushed against hers. “I want you to be my wife,” he admitted, his voice thick with emotion.

Y/N’s eyes were shining with tears as she nodded. “Yeah, let’s get married,” she agreed, her fingers scraping over the back of his neck. “When?”

“Tomorrow, after we get back from the exchange,” he stated matter-of-factly before bending down to swallow her giggles and rolling so he was snug between her thighs. The washcloth lay on the bed, forgotten and growing cold as Dean’s cock went rigid, sliding effortlessly into her weeping pussy.

* * *

You woke up and stretched loudly, all the overused muscles protesting to your movements. Dean had gotten up an hour or so ago, kissed you, and told you to sleep some more; that there was still plenty of time before the exchange. It was tempting to sleep some more, but your need for the toilet overrode any other activity. Since you were out of bed, you took a hot shower, brushed your teeth, got [**_dressed_**](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.polyvore.com%2Faria_montgomery_pll_series%2Fset%3Fid%3D214472556&t=ZmViYzMyMGJlNWJkY2Q5ODJkMjVkNzRiOWVhNGY2ZWFhY2NiNDY5NSw4QzFnSTNsTw%3D%3D&b=t%3ACfmOVX62N1SvYXISFQBhgQ&p=http%3A%2F%2Fmrs-squirrel-chester.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F158363414182%2Fsons-of-lawrence-11&m=1), tied your hair into a low-slung knot, and wandered downstairs.

Mary was resting in a plush recliner, her eyes closed, but she wasn’t asleep. “Mornin’, Y/N,” she murmured, adjusting her legs so she could push down the leg rest.

You rushed over to help, receiving a grateful smile. “How are you feeling?” you inquired gently, knowing how stubborn she could be.

“Much better,” she answered honestly. You don’t know how you knew she wasn’t lying. Maybe it was from being a nurse; you could read people better than others claimed they could.

“I’m glad to hear it,” you admitted, smiling shyly up at her.

Mary answered your smile with one of her own as she rummaged in the pocket of her [jacket](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fs-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com%2F736x%2F38%2Fc0%2Fb6%2F38c0b64af66882b0d94cd538fc94582b.jpg&t=MDBjNzI2YjVkNDVmZWI1OGU0MWViYzAxMTFiNGYwZTYzZDNjYTAwNSw4QzFnSTNsTw%3D%3D&b=t%3ACfmOVX62N1SvYXISFQBhgQ&p=http%3A%2F%2Fmrs-squirrel-chester.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F158363414182%2Fsons-of-lawrence-11&m=1), pulling her hand out a moment later. “Dean told us the good news. Welcome to the family,” she proclaimed, holding out her hand.

There was a [ring](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fs-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com%2F236x%2F2c%2F16%2F04%2F2c1604571bea5359be63861c504337dd.jpg&t=NDMzZjcxMDhkMGE5YjA4ZTNjZDU5ZDQwODdiNTQ0ZjM0ZWQxMGMxNiw4QzFnSTNsTw%3D%3D&b=t%3ACfmOVX62N1SvYXISFQBhgQ&p=http%3A%2F%2Fmrs-squirrel-chester.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F158363414182%2Fsons-of-lawrence-11&m=1) lying in her palm, a ring you could tell had been passed down for several generations. You picked it up with a shaking hand and took in the intricate design. “Mare, I… I can’t-,”

She shook her head. “Yes, you can, and you will,” she insisted. Even so far as to pluck it from your hand and slide it onto your ring finger.

You swallowed thickly and held up your left hand. That was when the Winchester men came in the house. John was the first to reach you. He pulled you up off the floor and into his arms, squeezing you tight enough that the air was forced from your lungs.

“Welcome to the family,” he murmured happily. You didn’t get a chance to say thank you, because Sam was hugging you next and kissing the top of your head.

Next was Dean, who was wearing the biggest smile of them all. He didn’t just pull you into his arms and kiss you. Dean lifted you off the ground and gave you a bruising kiss that left you breathless.

“Alright, alright,” John groaned. “We got an exchange to do.”

* * *

There was something so freeing about riding a motorcycle. All of your worries and fears melted away the moment Dean drove away from the house, taking up the rear of the large group of loud motorcycles. You could never explain it really well when people asked, but you it was in the wind as it drifted along your body, seemingly taking away all of your worries; replacing them with what was happening in the here and now.

One of your hands was on Dean’s thigh, reveling in the way his muscles would flex and relax depending on which way the bike was turning. He grabbed your hand and kissed the palm before settling it over his heart. You smiled to yourself and wrapped your other arm around him. Closing your eyes, you rested your cheek on his back, pulling in deep breaths of fresh air and leather.

Dean shouted your name, following it with a frightened sounding curse. Your heart pounded painfully and you looked just in time to see a large oak that had been chopped down. It covered the entire width of the road and as Dean had just crested a hill, there was not enough time to turn around, let alone stop. But that didn’t prevent Dean from trying. You gripped him tight as he cranked on the brake, filling the air with the squealing of rubber on tar.

It all happened so fast. The motorcycle slammed into the tree, sending you and Dean flying through the air before landing with such force, that your helmet cracked and your teeth gnashed together. And then everything went black.


	12. Chapter 12

Sam couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Before they left the house, Dean let everyone know that he’d be breaking away for a bit, taking Y/N on a back road with an amazing view. He’d rejoin the group when the roads met back up about 30 miles later.

Problem was, they passed the junction 10 minutes ago and no one had seen Dean and Y/N.

Pulling up next to his mom and dad, he told them about the knot in his belly. “I’m gonna go back and make sure nothing happened.”

John nodded his approval, watching in worry as Sam turned his bike around and tore off to find Dean. He hadn’t said anything to Mary, but his stomach had been rolling with unease the moment Dean pulled away from the group.

With Ruby at his back, Sam sped away, trying to keep all the ‘what ifs’ at bay, but it was no use. Images of the worst case scenario bombarded his brain relentlessly, only fueling the fire of fear in his gut. Ruby wrapped her arms around Sam and squeezed, resting her hand over his racing heart. She had always been there for him when he needed. But no amount of silent support could prepare him for what he saw at the top of a hill.

* * *

What pulled you from unconsciousness were the sounds of someone being violently beaten. Your eyes flew open and you instantly regretted it. The bile was thick at the back of your throat and your head was… well, pounding would be putting it lightly. What was happening was so much worse. And it wasn’t just happening in your head. It was all over your body. Every inch of you felt like you had gotten run over by a car. Which you knew all about. You were 15 and high. What else did you expect would happen when walking across a major highway, in the middle of the night, wearing dark clothing? But you digressed.

Finding all of your limbs miraculously unbroken, you rolled to your side, then to your belly. Once there, you pushed your fists into the dirt and somehow got to your feet. It was painful as hell, muscles screaming in protest and your brain thrumming painfully in your head. The ground beneath you shifted and you almost fell to your knees, but somehow, you kept moving.

After tugging off the now worthless helmet, you dropped it, barely hearing it bounce on the ground. With a hand over your eyes, you moved slowly toward the men fighting; their forms severely out of focus and their movements choppy. What you could make out was the emblem on the back of Dean’s leather jacket.

That’s when you heard a familiar voice threatening your fiance. “First, I’m gonna make you watch as I kill Y/N,” Gadreel snarled, spit flying from his lips. “Then, I’m coming back for you.”

You tried to run over and stop Gadreel from punching Dean to the ground, but your body didn’t seem to be understanding things clearly. You stumbled over, fell to your knees, and gingerly picked up Dean’s head. The helmet he had been wearing was nowhere to be seen -not that you could see much more than Dean’s bloody face- and one of his eyes was completely swollen shut.

You were just about to wipe the blood from his face when Gadreel yanked you up and away, slamming your back against his chest. Kicking and screaming, you tried getting out of your ex’s rock-solid grip, but he seemed to be stronger than three years ago.

“Stop, Y/N,” he snarled, shaking you just enough that you screamed in agony. The fight left your body and you sagged into him, whining pitifully.

“Please,” you sputtered, blood sprinkling your lips. “You don’t have to do this.”

Gadreel smirked against your hair and murmured, “I know I don’t have to. I want to do this, Y/N. I want to finish what I started.” That’s when you felt the flat side of a serrated blade slide under your shirt. Goosebumps dotted the skin that the metal scraped, as if it remembered the blade. God knew you did. No way in hell you’d ever forget the knife he previously tried to kill you with.

You tried swallowing the lump in your throat. “No, Gad. You don’t have to. Please,” you begged. The blood was thicker on your tongue now. There was no denying that the crash did internal damage. You just hoped it wasn’t as bad as you feared.

Dean was trying to get off the ground, but he kept falling every time. “No,” he spat, more blood than saliva fell from his mouth. “Don’t do this.”

Gadreel was chuckling darkly, his chest rumbled against your back. “You’re in no position to tell me what I can or cannot do, Winchester.”

Fat tears were rolling down your cheeks and you did something you haven’t done in years; pray. But there were no angels answering your call, there was no lightning strike; nothing happened. Well, nothing heavenly.

The serrated blade was pushed quickly into your stomach.  You wanted to scream, cry out for Dean to save you, but all that came out was a raspy cry, pushing blood bubbles into the corners of your mouth.

Gadreel kissed your cheek, whispering into your ear, “It’ll be over quickly,” he promised, pulling the blade out, only to plunge it back in. “Just breathe, Y/N.”

Dean was screaming and crying, still trying to stand. He was telling you to, “Hang on, baby,” but you didn’t see yourself surviving this attack.

You were groaning, low, heavy, and drawn-out. Blood was pouring down your legs and the edge of your vision had started to blur.

“Such a good girl,” Gadreel praised. You could hear the smirk in his voice. And then he did something you hadn’t expected. He pushed the blade deeper yet, and twisted the handle.

That was when your legs gave out. Gad let you crumble to the ground and watched as you pressed your hands against the weeping wounds as you tried to slow the flow of blood.

Gadreel stepped over you and strode over to a now enraged Dean. Even though black was now cluttering your vision, you could see Gad reaching for Dean. The next thing you heard, there was a loud **_pop pop pop_** and Gadreel was on the ground. That’s when you blacked out.

* * *

Sam’s chest tightened painfully and he felt like he was going to vomit. Dean was on the ground, beaten and bloody. The only other person he and Ruby saw was a man that was almost taller than Sam. Neither one of them saw see Y/N at first. And then she fell to the ground like a ragdoll. Sam saw blood, and it wasn’t just the way it was racing out of Y/N’s wounds.

The bike slid to a stop and both Sam and Ruby leapt off, tossing their helmets carelessly to the ground. The pistol was in Sam’s hand before he could even think about going for it. The safety was released and he pulled the trigger three times in rapid succession. Whoever was reaching for Dean cried out in pain before rolling his shoulders and spinning on his heel.

Gadreel looked at Sam and chuckled. The blade in his hand had blood dripping of each serrated edge, soaking the dirt at his feet. His wicked gaze fell to Ruby, who had just dropped to her knees, ripped off her [**_hoodie_**](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fwww1.bloomingdales.com%2Fshop%2Fproduct%2Fbcbgmaxazria-nathyn-quilted-inset-sweatshirt%3FID%3D1568585%26cm_mmc%3DPolyvore-_-Leased-_-Bcbgmaxazria-612000720705USA-_-sweatshirts%26CAWELAID%3D120156070004802621&t=NTk3NTc3NzE0NWZmNDBlMjU4N2RmN2FkZDllZDYyNjY0NjcxMDYzZSw1VnJ1YWhsYg%3D%3D&b=t%3ACfmOVX62N1SvYXISFQBhgQ&p=http%3A%2F%2Fmrs-squirrel-chester.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F158437719007%2Fsons-of-lawrence-12&m=1), and pressed it into Y/N’s belly.

“I’ll come back for you,” he threatened, throwing the worried brunette a wink when he aimed the blade at her and Y/N.

Sam reset his sights and gave a smirk of his own. “Not today, mother fucker,” he spat before pulling the trigger three more times; dropping Gadreel like a sack of potatoes.


	13. Chapter 13

“This isn’t a fairy tale, Mr. Winchester,” Doctor Novak stated matter-of-factly. “Y/N suffered extensive internal damage. I can’t tell you long it will take because I don’t know how long it will take.”

Standing next to Dean’s hospital bed, John had his arms crossed and a scowl on his brow. “I don’t expect immediate results, doc. But there’s gotta be something that can be done.”

James Novak crossed the room and turned on the lights of the x-ray panels on the wall. He opened a large manilla folder and pressed the film up until it got stuck. He ran a finger along the outline of Y/N’s skull. “When Y/N got thrown from the bike, she hit her head. Now, the helmet saved her life, but it also did some damage,” he cleared his throat before continuing. “Along with a severe concussion, the impact resulted in a hematoma. In layman’s terms, clotting of blood outside the blood vessels.”

Mary, who was holding her son’s hand, asked, “Is it serious?”

Doctor Novak nodded. “It can be very serious if a hematoma occurs inside the brain. Unfortunately, that is what occurred. The clotting can cause pressure to build inside the skull, which is a factor into why she lost consciousness. Hopefully that won’t last too long. We went in and drained what we could.”

“What else?” Dean rasped, his throat raw from having a breathing tube removed earlier that morning.

Another piece of film was slapped up. “There was a lot of scar tissue from what had been repaired 3 years ago. This time, she was stabbed more than once. Add in the internal damage from the accident and the loss of blood, Y/N is looking at a rough recovery.”

There was a collective heavy sigh between the Winchesters as Dean pushed his head into the mountain of thin pillows.

“Thank you,” John murmured and held out his hand for the doctor.

James’ lips pressed into a thin line as he shook John’s hand. “Y/N was on a lot of my cases over the past year; she’s an amazing person. I promise that I’ll do everything in my power not to lose her.”

He went to leave the room, but stopped suddenly and rummaged in a pocket of his crisp, tan jacket. “I almost forgot,” he whispered.

Mary held out her hand when James approached and extended a fist. The ring she had given Y/N the other day fell softly into her palm. She choked on a sob and almost crumbled under the weight of John’s hand on her shoulder.

“You’ll get that back to her, Mare,” John promised, his own voice tremulous with emotion.

* * *

Ruby and Sam were with Y/N, listening to the same news James had just delivered in the other room. Sam was shaking in anger. Not so much because of Gadreel, but what he had been told by Gadreel. Then there was the fact he was angry with himself for not riding with Dean and for not turning around sooner.

“I knew something was going on,” Sam muttered to himself after Doctor Novak left the room.

Ruby grabbed Sam’s hand and tugged on it to get his attention. “This isn’t your fault, Sam. Gadreel was fucking crazy.”

Nodding, Sam chewed on his bottom lip. He looked at Y/N and shuddered. While there was minimal damage to her face, deep bags surrounded her eyes. Her head was wrapped in white bandages and gauze, she had been intubated in the ambulance, and there were now a bunch of different colored wires that disappeared under her gown.

“You good staying with her?” Sam asked gently. “I need to talk to mom and dad.”

“Go,” Ruby answered, pushing up to her toes so she could kiss him. “I’ll call if anything changes.”

* * *

_Sam reset his sights and gave a smirk of his own. “Not today, mother fucker,” he spat before pulling the trigger three more times; dropping Gadreel like a sack of potatoes. Only Gadreel wasn’t dead. Sam could hear the rattling of blood in Gadreel’s lungs as the younger Winchester approached._

_Gadreel was laughing as he writhed in the dirt. He may have been psychotic, but he was dying and his body was fighting for survival. His hand was searching the ground next to him, trying to grab the knife that was just out of reach. Sam kicked it out of the way and aimed his gun at Gadreel._

_“Who told you?” Sam demanded through gritted teeth._

_“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” Gadreel retorted, choking on some blood at the back of his throat._

_Sam sneered and raised his gun so it was pointing at his face. “Don’t fuck with me right now, Gadreel. Tell me or I’ll shoot you in your fucking face.”_

_Ruby gave a shout to grab Sam’s attention. “She’s losing too much blood. I can’t… I can’t stop it.”_

_“Last chance, pal,” Sam said darkly. “There was no way in hell you got lucky with that goddamn tree. Someone told you about Dean and Y/N.”_

_Gadreel laughed again, splattering blood on his lips and chin. “Alright, I’ll tell you. It was that sweet thing that’s got the hots for your brother.”_

_“Jo?” Sam breathed. “No fucking way!”_

_“SAM,” Ruby shouted fearfully._

_“Hate to tell ya, but you got a rat.” He sounded so goddamn smug that Sam couldn’t help himself._

_A shot rang out just as the roar of their dad’s Harley as it sped down the road. Sam sneered once again, taking pleasure in the sight of Gadreel with a bullet hole right between his eyes._

John was shaking with rage and there were tears streaming down Mary’s face. “I’m gonna wring her fuckin’ neck,” John spat, disdain thick on his tongue.

“I don’t want to believe it,” Mary whispered, more to herself than anyone else.

Sam had his hands buried in his pockets when he said, “I’m inclined to believe Gadreel. I mean, how else would he have known? Someone _had_ to have told him.”

Mary was shaking her head, but she seemed to accept that Jo had gone so far with her dislike of Y/N to aid in trying to kill her. “I get how angry you, but we can’t hurt her, Johnny,” she murmured and grabbed his clenched fist.

“Fine,” he begrudgingly agreed. “But I want that little bitch gone.”

“I don’t think that will be a problem,” Sam agreed. “Especially when Ellen finds out.”

* * *

The same night that Dean was released from the hospital, John called an emergency meeting. Y/N was still unconscious, but she was making progress. The hematoma was healing and she had been extubated earlier that day. Her vitals were slowly increasing, and because of that, she was stable enough for one more surgery.

Mary was wearing the previously gifted ring around her neck and she was currently twirling the long chain around her fingers. She tried to keep her face neutral, but it was damn difficult, especially since Jo was batting her eyelashes at Dean. Fuck! She wanted to jump over the table and slap the little bitch. John tapping his ring on the table pulled Mary from her daydream.

“As everyone can see,” John started, smiling and gently grasping Dean’s shoulder. “Dean has been given a clean bill of health.”

There was a solid minute of clapping and cheers, even some of the guys making jokes at Dean’s expense. Of course, it was all taken lightly; they never wished Dean any harm.

And then John cleared his throat. “That being said, Y/N still has a long road ahead of her.” He turned his gaze to Jo, whose smile fell into a deep frown. “But things are looking up. She’s headed in for her last surgery tomorrow morning. After that, she should be in the clear.”

Another eruption of applause was quickly cut short. “As great as that is, we do have some business to discuss.”

Jo was shifting uncomfortably under the steely gaze of the Winchesters and Ruby. _They can’t know. Can they?_ She thought to herself. She was about to find out.

John clapped Dean on the shoulder before addressing Jo. “What do you know about what happened?”

Her eyes went wide, then they darted over to Dean, who looked just as confused as Jo. “I don't… just what Mama and Bobby told me.”

“Dad?” breathed Dean. There was no pushing down the anxiety blossoming in his eyes chest.

“You best come clean, Jo,” was John’s not no subtle threat.

Jo rolled her eyes, which made Ruby snort in disbelief. “I don’t know anything!”

At that point, Ellen turned to her daughter. “Joanna, if you know somethin’, you best say it now.”

“Relax, Ma,” Jo said in a dismissive tone. “There’s nothing for me to say.”

Dean stood and stared at John. “What’s going on here?” he demanded, even though he started to think Jo played a part in the whole thing.

“Come on, girl,” John urged.

“Whatever,” Jo scoffed as she stood. “I’m leaving.”

John intercepted her with a firm grip on her wrist. “We know all about it,” he whispered harshly.

“You don’t know shit, old man. Let me go,” she shouted in his face.

Sam came up behind Dean and said loud enough for everyone to hear, “We know you told Gadreel where Dean and Y/N would be.” There were surprised gasps and not-so-quiet murmurs. But it was Ellen that stood and demanded Sam explain himself.

Jo was rolling her eyes and frantically trying to pull out of John’s grip. “Y’all are fucking crazy.’

Dean whipped around to face his father and brother, utter confusion and betrayal etched in his face. “Tell me what happened, Sammy. Please,” he begged, his hands balled into fists at his side.

“Alright,” Sam agreed with a sigh. “When I got there, Gadreel was on his way to kill Dean and Y/N was on the ground, bleeding out. So I shot the bastard; which you guys already knew. But what you didn’t know was those first shots didn’t kill him.” When Sam revealed that bit of information, the room fell quiet.

Dean swallowed thickly and closed his eyes. “What’re you saying, Sam?” he sighed, his breath hitching in his throat.

Sam turned and glared at the still struggling Jo. “While Ruby tried to stop Y/N from bleeding out, I asked Gadreel a question.”

Jo’s face was flushed and covered in a thin sheen of sweat. “For the last time, let me go,” she all out screamed at John. When she went to kick him, Sam towered over her and shook his head.

“We have a rat,” he said menacingly.

First Dean’s eyes snapped open and he leveled Jo with a dark gaze, then Ellen was next to her daughter. “Joanna Beth, what did you do?” Ellen demanded with barely controlled rage.

“Nothin’, Mama,” Jo declared, her voice high-pitched and strained.

“Gadreel told me, Jo,” Sam confessed. “He told me that you went to Crowley and had information that would get Gadreel closer to Y/N. How else would he know that Dean was going to take a back road?”

“You fucking bitch,” Dean roared and pulled his arm back, poised and ready to strike Jo down.

Ellen lunged between her daughter and Dean, effectively stopping Dean with a shake of her head. Jo looked like the proverbial cat that swallowed the canary, all cocky and shit with her sparkling eyes and wide smile. After Dean nodded and dropped his hand, Ellen turned and faced her daughter.

“I’m only gonna ask you one more time, and girl, you better tell us the truth. Or so help me,” Ellen threatened, her voice deep and husky.

Every inch of Jo was shaking so bad that John feared if he let her go now, she’d fall over. Then again, he didn’t really give a fuck what happened to her; he just wanted her gone. He kept his grip tight, unyielding.

“I… I mean… ok, yeah,” Jo sputtered, the words of admission choking her, the fury on her mother’s face scaring her so much that her heart started to painfully skip beats. “I went to Crowley, told him about the exchange. Then when Dean said he’d be taking a back road… I… I called Gadreel; told him what he needed to hear.”

Ellen ground her teeth loud enough that Bobby heard it from fifteen feet back. And then she raised her hand and slapped Jo across the face, sending a resounding _smack_ echoing through the room. Jo’s head whipped to the side and she brought a hand up to cover the stinging and split skin. There was blood dripping from the corner of her mouth and her cheekbone when she looked at her mom. Tears pushed past her eyelashes, but Jo was glaring at Ellen. She wrenched her arm out of John’s grasp, spinning around to face him. Jo was just about to curse him out, but he shook his head firmly.

“Get out,” he snarled loudly. “You’re no longer part of COLT.”

Jo scoffed incredulously. “You really think you can do that?”

“I just did.” John turned his back on Jo and sat down, completely ignoring the petite blond.

“Mama, he can’t-” Jo started, only to be cut off with a deathly glare from Ellen.

“Because of you, two people almost died,” Ellen yelped, tears welling in her eyes. “Because of you, someone is burying their son.” There were a few people that groaned, but Ellen went on to add, “No matter how fucking crazy Gadreel was, he was still someone’s child.”

Jo rolled her eyes. “One less psycho in the world, if you ask me.”

Ellen grabbed a handful of her daughter’s hair and pulled hard enough that Jo shrieked. “Listen good, child, because I’m only gonna say this once. Not only are you banned from COLT, but I’m booting you out. Yeah, that’s right,” she rasped, Jo’s eyes wide in panic. “I want you outta my house and outta my life.”

Jo fell to the ground when Ellen released her daughter’s hair. Her shoulders were shaking and she had started to cry, but no one asked if she was ok or if she needed help on the floor. The only thing everyone did was take their seats and ignore her as John went on about COLT. Nothing important though, as there was a rat that had just been dealt with.

With a shattered sigh, Jo pushed off the ground and stood on shaking legs. She looked at Ellen and Bobby, only to have them square their shoulders and focus intently on John. Bobby was wearing a look of pure hatred that Jo had never seen before and Ellen… Christ, she wasn’t even crying. She had just kicked her daughter out of her house, out of her life, and there wasn’t any emotion anywhere to be seen. Rolling her eyes, Jo turned away and stormed out.

* * *

Dean was sitting next to Y/N’s bed, his hand beneath her pale one; careful not to disrupt the IV on the back of her hand. “Sammy shot him, baby,” he murmured, spreading his other hand on her thigh; thumb sweeping back and forth. “Gadreel’s gone and he’s never going to hurt you ever again, I promise.” Steady, mechanical beeps were the only sounds in the room. Well, them and the hiss of oxygen from the tube under her nose.

Y/N’s vitals had been steadily improving over the last week, even the swelling on her brain and the bleeding had gone down to the point that Doctor Novak was confused as to why she wasn’t waking up.

“Maybe it’s deeper than just bleeding,” Meg said softly as she rubbed her hands together, rubbing the antibacterial foam into her skin before sitting on the other side of the bed.

Dean shook his head, not because he disagreed, but because he didn’t know what else to do. “Thanks for staying with her, Meg.”

“She’s my friend, Dean.” Meg reached up to brush some hair from Y/N’s face and tucked it behind her ear. “I’ll stay with her forever.”

Dean laughed ruefully. “I’m glad she’s had you.”

Meg sighed happily as she readjusted some of the monitor lines and took Y/N’s pulse, despite the steady beeping on the monitor behind her. “I was there for her and she was there for me. We’re not just friends, we’re soul sisters. I can’t explain it any better than that,” she mused, smiling subtly.

“I know all about those,” Dean acknowledged. “I just… I wish she’d wake up.” The breath hitched in his throat as he scraped his hands over his face.

“I know, Dean. I want the same thing, but we just have to ride it out; see when she’s ready.” Meg’s pager beeped loudly. “Shit! We got four car pile-up coming in.”

“I got her, Meg,” Dean breathed, waving at Meg before she jogged out. He turned his attention back to Y/N and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “I got you.”


	14. Chapter 14

From the moment you slipped into the comforting darkness of unconsciousness, you ran as far as you could. Away from the constant stabs of pain in your gut; the way the serrated blades caught on and tore through your skin, slicing ungracefully through the layers of muscles and organs. Or the constant pulse of your heartbeat against your brain. It was crippling, making you cry out wordlessly in utter agony. But it didn’t matter how far you went, you could still feel the hot bursts of Gadreel’s breath on your neck, smell the sourness of it on the tip of his tongue. Blood and violence got him off, and you could feel him go hard against your back, the way his body shuddered as desire rolled through him.

The helplessness you felt was nothing compared to three years ago. You remembered dragging yourself across the floor, slipping in your own blood as you sought out your cell phone. You had been so sure you were going to die, that if you could have, you would be laughing at yourself. Because now, there wasn’t a doubt in your mind that Gadreel would succeed in killing you.

You don’t know how long you’d been running or how long you’d been hidden in the deepest part of yourself, rocking back and forth, whispering nonsense to yourself when a gruff voice was talking to you, begging you to wake up.

“Baby, please,” he pleaded, emotion choking him. “I need you to wake up.”

You knew that voice, you just couldn’t place it. It was enough to fill you with curiosity and pull you from the ground. He said it again, clearer this time, and that’s when it hit you. “Dean,” you breathed, his name rolling off your tongue effortlessly.

There was a brush of calloused skin on your hand and it made you jump back. Not because it scared you, but because it sent a thrill slithering down your spine. A sense of urgency pushed down the fear, stomping it into nothing. With your heart pounding, you tore away from your safe place and ran towards Dean’s voice.

It was harder than you thought it would be; moving from unconscious to conscious. You’d seen it many times with patients, knew how difficult it was, but there you were, trying your damndest to get a finger to move. In frustration, you tried screaming his name, but it didn’t carry. It sounded as if you were screaming into the void and the void had shitty acoustics.

“I don’t… that Novak guy said you could hear me,” Dean rasped, his voice weary from lack of sleep and emotion. “Jo’s gone, too, babe. Should’a seen it.” He chuckled gently before continuing. “Dad was furious, but no more than Ellen. She’s not just outta COLT, she’s _gone_.”

A sense of relief washed over you and that’s when you started to cry. You were safe. After all blood and drama, there was nothing else that could hurt you. Focusing with every fiber of your being, you willed yourself to wake.

* * *

Dean’s eyes had drifted closed a while ago, not long after he rested his head on Y/N’s thigh. He was in that place between asleep and awake where the things he wanted the most weren’t real, but feel like they’re tangible. He was so sure he heard her say his name. It was more of a raspy choke, but it couldn’t have been, right? Y/N’s eyes had been closed a handful of minutes ago.

Then the muscles under his cheek twitched. Dean’s eyes flew open and his head snapped up so hard that under normal circumstances, he would have fallen. Y/N’s eyes weren’t sparkling with their normal shine, but that didn’t matter. She was awake and she was reaching for his hand.

She rasped his name again and motioned for something to drink. “Of course, Y/N,” he huffed before jumping up and jogging from the room.

Meg rounded a corner just as Dean ran down the hall to get a bucket of ice. If he was doing something like that, then it meant Y/N was awake. Heart hammering in her chest, Meg entered the room and let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

“Oh, thank God,” Meg cried. Y/N smiled weakly at her friend and lifted her arm, readying herself for the hug she knew was coming, the hug she needed.

* * *

Jo, furious and shaking, entered Crowley’s office. He leveled the new arrival with a dark gaze.

“What do you want?” Crowley demanded, a cigarette between his fingers.

Jo sat down across from him, crossed her legs, and refused to shake under Crowley’s gaze. “Your plan backfired.”

“ _My_ plan,” Crowley scoffed. “I wasn’t the one groveling for help, love. That was all you.”

“Whatever,” Jo breathed, rolling her eyes.

“Not ‘whatever’, Joanna. Because of your childish behavior, I lost one of my men. Unless you got something for me, get out,” he growled, already spinning in his chair to look out the floor-to-ceiling window.

Jo finished lighting her cigarette before saying, “John doesn’t plan on giving up COLT.”

Crowley sighed heavily. “Of course not. He’s stubborn and it’s always his way or the highway.”

“I can help you get it,” she vowed, her smile growing more wicked the longer she sat there.

Intrigued, Crowley turned and rested his elbows on the edge of his desk. “Judging by your demeanor, they kicked you out. Am I right?” Jo nodded curtly, pulling in a lazy drag. “Then tell me, Joanna Beth, how do you propose to help me when you’re just like me; an outcast.”

“I’m determined, Crowley,” Jo said confidently.

“They won’t let you near them,” Crowley stated plainly. “And they certainly won’t let me in.”

“If I can get you in that house, get you a meeting with John, will you let me stay?” she inquired, knowing that if Crowley said no, she was up shit creek without a paddle.

Crowley stared at Jo while he smoked. He shouldn’t have any dealing with her and he knew that, knew it on a visceral level. But his greed to have both HELL and COLT was too much to argue with. Stubbing out the cigarette, Crowley nodded.

“All I need from you is a time and place.”

Jo smirked. “Deal.”

An evil thought crossed his mind and he quickly added, “Let’s seal it with a kiss, love.”

* * *

You had been discharged two days ago and now you were resting in Dean’s bed. You hadn’t realized how tiring it would be to do something so minor as eating lunch. Dean insisted you get some sleep while he, Sam, Ruby, and Mary went out for a ride. John would stay home, “Just in case you need anything,” Dean murmured against your lips.

It wasn’t that you didn’t appreciate all the Winchesters -and Ruby- had done for you. But you couldn’t help but feel as if you were overstaying your welcome. They disagreed with you, saying they loved having you, that you were a part of the family; they would do anything for you.

You were drifting off, just about to enter a dream of riding down some back country road with your arms wrapped around Dean and nothing around for miles. But you never got there. A loud _pop pop_ startled you. You weren’t sure if it was a memory from when Sam shot Gadreel, so you laid there, willing your heart to stop racing. That’s when the sound of squealing tires on tar pushed you from the bed and down the stairs.

There was a chill in the air, which didn’t fit the 80 degree weather outside, so you listened to your instincts and grabbed a poker from the fireplace. You had it poised over your shoulder, ready to strike if necessary, when you saw him.

You ran over and dropped to your knees, sliding in the growing pool of John Winchester’s warm blood. He was gasping for air, grunting as you moved him to locate the bullet wound. Wait, there were two shots. You searched frantically for the wounds. Finding them on his chest, you ripped off the jersey knit shirt you were wearing and applied as much pressure as you could.

John’s panic-filled eyes met yours and he tried to say something, but he couldn’t find the strength to say what he so desperately wanted to. You yanked the phone from your pocket and quickly dialed 911.

The dispatcher answered in an almost unnerving tone. “911, what is your emergency?”


	15. Chapter 15

Crowley knew from the moment Jo left his office that he was going to frame her for the murder of John Winchester. He just had to make sure to execute his plan perfectly. Since Jo had gotten her perky ass kicked out of COLT, Crowley didn’t want to act too soon. He wanted the Winchesters -and guest- to start to feel safe, as if all of their problems had disappeared with the death of Gadreel.

Only one other person knew the entirety of Crowley’s plan; Patrick. He was tall, dark, deathly handsome, and had a thick accent that made all the ladies -and a few of the men- swoon. Patrick flirted shamelessly with the petite blonde, told her about his rough childhood in Cyprus and the UK, even played the sympathy card by telling her how his parents died when he was a teenager. Jo was eating out of his hand and Crowley knew Patrick wouldn’t let him down.

Several days later, Crowley decided it was time. Patrick and Jo were going at it like rabbits and everyone except John had just pulled away on their bikes. He sat back for several long moments, making sure the sounds of the loud bikes had drifted away before Crowley pushed off the stolen bike that was sitting just out of view. Dark leather gloves were pulled on as he strode up the driveway, disappearing silently into the house just as a car drove past.

With a cup in his hand and his nose buried in the newspaper, John walked into the kitchen; only stopping because Crowley cleared his throat.

“Hello, John,” Crowley rasped, pulling a loosely-wrapped bundle from his pocket.

John lowered the cup and paper to the table slowly. “Crowley,” he addressed his old friend coldly.

Crowley wasted no time in revealing the small black pistol. “I’ve heard through the grapevine that you’ve come to a decision.”

“I’m not letting you have COLT,” John growled, his hand disappearing behind his back where his gun was tucked into the waistband of his jeans.

“I knew that would be your answer,” Crowley chuckled, pulling back the hammer and taking aim at John’s chest.

John was shaking his head, his hand wrapping around the handle of his gun. “Jo, right?”

“That girl is…” Crowley’s voice drifted off, but his gaze stayed focused on the man that used to be his best friend.

Growing weary of the conversation, John’s shoulder twitched as he went to draw his weapon. But since Crowley already had John in his sights, he pulled the trigger twice before John could even pull the pistol from his jeans. Crowley placed the pistol back in the dark bandana, slid it into his pocket, and walked out of the house; all before John’s mouth gaped and his eyes fluttered closed.

* * *

Patrick was waiting for Crowley inside his office, head tilted to the side, scanning the shelf of books; seeing the titles, but not remembering what they said. He hadn’t been in there long when the door behind him opened.

He turned and greeted Crowley with a smirk. “Good to go?”

Crowley pulled the gun from his pocket and rested dropped it onto Patrick’s open hand. “Two bullets, center mass,” he answered before shrugging out of his jacket. “And Jo?”

“Bitch is in my bed. Roofies hit her hard,” Patrick replied with a wicked chuckle.

“Good, good,” Crowley mused, handing the still wrapped gun to Patrick.

Patrick exited the office and quickly made his way to the room where Jo lay passed out from a mixture of booze, rohypnol, and a good, long, hard fuck. Moving silently and efficiently, Patrick unwrapped the gun, using the bandana to hold the barrel as he pressed it into Jo’s hand, working her fingers around the grip, her thumb on the hammer, and index finger on the trigger. He stayed that way, holding her hand and the gun, for several minutes, making sure that her prints would be perfect.

One more thing, and Patrick could wash his hands of her. Gunpowder residue was needed. With his finger on hers, Patrick took careful aim, and pulled the trigger. Despite the extra dose of rohypnol, Jo stirred slightly, but she didn’t wake.

Patrick wrapped the gun up, got dressed, and walked out of HELL. The last thing he needed to do was plant the gun; he just had to decide where.

* * *

No matter how much pressure you had applied, John had lost a lot of blood and was immediately rushed into surgery. Meg stayed with you after James and Charlie ran with the gurney down the hall.

With an arm around your shaking shoulders, she asked, “Would you like me to call Dean?”

“Shit,” you breathed. “I… I hadn’t even thought of that.”

“Go and wash up,” Meg instructed cautiously. It wasn’t hard to see you were in shock. “I’ll call them.” She squeezed your shoulders before letting them go, walked behind the desk, and picked up the phone. She was leaving a message on Dean’s voicemail when you walked into the bathroom.

You were staring at your reflection as warm water ran over your hands. You’d lost some weight from your time in the ICU, leaving your face gaunt; an almost grayish tint to your skin. Your hair was lifeless, stringy, and was streaked with blood. Blood that was also on your forehead and cheek. Tears stung your eyes and your shoulders started to shake.

 _What’s wrong with me?_  you thought. You’d seen far worse; helped operate on people with missing limbs and held the hands of people that you had just ‘pulled the plug’ on, and everything in between. You shouldn’t be crying over a man you hardly knew. But you were. Because he wasn’t just a man you hardly knew. John was the father of the man you loved. John had taken you in when you were scared, had your back -along with the rest of the Winchesters- when you needed it. John was a fucking amazing man. And you were wearing his blood.

You didn’t know how long you had been sitting on the floor when there was a knock on the door. It was Dean.

“Y/N. Baby, come out,” Dean pleaded, his voice thick and gruff.

Even though he couldn’t see it, you shook your head. You were crying too hard to form words, let alone push yourself from the floor. At that moment, you realized it wasn’t just what happened to John that was affecting you. It was everything that had happened over the last month.

“Come on, sweetheart. You’re starting to scare me.” He dropped his voice to a whisper and said, “I need to see you.”

Reaching up, you threw the lock. Before you could cover your face, Dean was in front of you, pulling you off the floor, and into his arms. You locked your arms around his neck and cried against into his chest.

With his face in your hair and his hands clutching your back tight, he murmured tremulously, “I got you.”

* * *

Several hours drug by before James approached the small group, dark blue operation cap in his hands. Everybody shot to their feet, the air was heavy with anticipation. James looked at Mary with kind eyes. You knew that look, it was the way he looked at someone when bad news was about to be delivered. You grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze.

“One of the bullets shattered,” James started. “The shrapnel severed one of his left pulmonary veins. Because of that, John lost a lot of blood. There was other damage done by the shrapnel, but we were able to remove it without issue.”

Mary, with her hand over her mouth and nodding, was crying, just on the edge of completely shattering.

Clearing your throat, you asked, “What about the second bullet?”

James took a moment before answering, pulling in a deep breath. “That one is a little more complicated.”

“How do you mean?” Sam gruffly asked.

“There’s a lot of swelling around the second bullet, and it is close to his spine; too close for my liking. If we were to operate on it now, we risk the chance of it moving and possibly paralyzing him,” James admitted. This was his second to least favorite part of the job. The only thing higher on that list was delivering the news of a loved one’s passing.

“When do you think you’ll go back in?” you inquired. Your knowledge of knowing which questions to ask was met with murmurs and glances of thanks from Dean and Sam.

James was nodding, fingers toying anxiously with the ties of his surgery cap. “We put John in a medically-induced coma.” Mary choked on a sob and closed her eyes at the revelation.

With your hand still in hers, you added, “It’s for his own good, Mary. It’ll reduce the chances of the bullet moving because John moved funny. Plus, it will give his body time to reduce the swelling, giving James a better look at it for the next surgery.”

“Thank you, Y/N,” he conveyed. He straightened his shoulders before continuing. “Now, John is in ICU, and there are a lot of wires monitoring his vitals. While it’s nothing you haven’t seen before, seeing someone that you’ve known most of your life in his condition can be intense. I would suggest two visitors at a time, just until you… ‘get used’ to his appearance,” James advised.

Sam shook his hand, followed by Dean. Unlike them, you gave him a brief hug, whispering your appreciation. James’ lips pulled into a tight smile and he walked out, leaving the four of you to fully absorb the news.

* * *

Patrick had just tossed the gun into the lake. It was shallow, which would make recovering it easy. Now all he had to do was make an anonymous phone call to the police department. He was pulling out his cell phone when the chirp of a siren caught his attention. Curious, Patrick tucked away the phone and drove down the road.

The street the Winchesters lived on was bathed in red and blue lights from police cars that were crowding the road, and there were officers walking in and out of the house. Patrick pulled up to the yellow and black police tape, watching everyone intently.

“There something I can help you with?” an older woman with short brown hair asked. She was wearing a light brown leather jacket with a badge and gun on her hip.

“Just wondering what happened,” Patrick answered semi-honestly. He knew the result of what happened, but not all the details. Crowley was never one for sharing those.

She narrowed her eyes as she looked him over. “A man was shot today. You wouldn’t happen to know the people that lived here, would you?” She pulled a notepad and pen from a pocket.

Patrick shook his head. “Not really, no,” he admitted. “But everyone knows the Winchesters live here.”

“Got a point there,” she smiled softly. “Do you live around here?”

Again, he shook his head. “On the other side of town. I was just out for a ride.”

She scribbled on the notepad and nodded. “Have you seen anything out of the ordinary around town today?”

Patrick furrowed his brows as he appeared to be thinking. This was the perfect opportunity to frame Jo, he just didn’t want to seem too eager in answering the detective’s question. “You know, I did,” he started, nodding and making sure to keep eye contact. “A short blonde woman was speeding through a couple hours back.”

“Really?” the detective asked, eyebrow arched curiously. “Coming from this directiong?”

“Yeah,” he answered, raising his arm to point past the detective. “I was headed down Maple, had some last minute supplies to get, and she was tearing down the road like a bat outta hell. Almost hit me in the process,” he lied.

“You get a look at her face?”

Patrick shook his head. “No, sorry. She was wearing a helmet.”

“How’d you see her hair color?” she asked, a dark edge to her voice.

“She didn’t have her hair pulled up into the helmet,” he answered.

The detective made a few notes before returning her attention to Patrick. “One more question. Was there anything about the bike that might help us figure out who tried to kill John Winchester?”

Her choice of words caught Patrick off guard. _Tried to kill._  “You think he’s gonna pull through?”

“He was still alive with the paramedics drove off. Lucky someone else was in the house at the time. Now, the bike…” her voice trailed off as Patrick absorbed the news that Crowley had possibly failed.

Patrick hummed as his mind raced. It was harder than he thought it would be, but he remembered something unique to Jo’s bike. “Got a personalized license frame. Pink and black glitter.”

“Great, that really helps,” she murmured, writing down more notes before closing the notepad and reaching into her pocket for a business card. “Call if you think of anything else,” she instructed, giving him a soft smile.

Patrick looked over the card before tucking it into the front pocket of his leather vest. “You got it, detective Mills.”

* * *

You were in your second favorite spot; sprawled out on a pool chair and staring up at the stars. It was the first time you’d taken a bump since the accident, and you were completely at ease. The only thing that made everything 100% better was you were between Dean’s legs and your back was pressed firmly against his chest.

With your pupils blown, it was as if you could see more planets and stars, they way some sparkled bright while others seemed dull in their presence. The tails of falling stars twinkled like a 4th of July sparkler, flickering like diamonds against an obsidian backdrop.

Dean pulled the cigarette from your mouth and drew in a deep drag, humming in satisfaction as he chased his own high. “How you holdin’ up?” he asked, his lips brushing against your hair.

“It’s not an easy answer,” you murmured dazedly.

“No,” he agreed. “I suppose it’s not.”

Even in your state, you knew you weren’t the only one suffering. You pulled your legs up and twisted around to face Dean, somehow moving your legs so your thighs were atop his. “You wanna talk about it?” you asked softly, the back of your hand brushing along his whisper-kissed jawline.

Long lashes fluttered against his skin as his lids dropped. He continued to smoke, the drug pumping through him, fogging his mind. Then there was your touch; so gentle and caring. Part of him wanted to rip off your clothes and fuck you breathless, but the more rational part remembered you still had stitches and were still in need of rest in order to heal.

His eyes were still closed when he shook his head. “I’d rather not,” he huffed.

Shifting closer to him, you kissed him; long and lazily. Dean sighed into the kiss and pulled you closer to him. The push and pull of your stitches made you wince, but the pain ebbed quickly, letting you focus on Dean. How he tasted like tobacco and whiskey, the cocaine a bitter aftertaste that you craved more of. How the ends of his hair bit into the pads of your fingers like pine needles. How there were small gasps and moans in the back of his throat when you sucked on his tongue and bit his bottom lip.

The pair of you were breathing heavily when you broke, the air between you thrumming with electricity. You would have loved to taken it further, to finish what you started, but exhaustion was hot on the drug’s tail. A yawn filled the space between you, making Dean smirk.

“Come on,” he whispered, tucking some hair behind your ear. “Let’s get you in bed.” After disentangling from each other, Dean grabbed your hand and led the way into the house.

Everything was still a mess from the cops and detectives. The blood of John had stained the carpet, but the Crime Scene Unit cut it out and took it with them. Neither of you looked at where John’s body had been. Your eyes remained on Dean’s back all the way upstairs, down the hall, and into the bedroom where he helped you get out of your clothes and clean your still healing wounds.

The pair of you climbed into bed and after getting comfortable, you both fell asleep.


	16. Chapter 16

With the tension thick in the air, everyone took their seats at the table quickly. Dean sat in John’s chair and started the meeting in the same manner as his father; skull ring tapping on the table.

There was no point in beating around the bush. “Dad’s been put into a medically-induced coma,” Dean admitted, his voice weary from keeping his emotions under control. There were murmurs of confusion, so you elaborated further.

“With the bullet’s location, placing him in the coma was the only choice they had. It sounds like a death sentence, but believe me when I say that it’s John’s only chance of survival,” you added quickly, hoping to keep the gang from getting riled up.

Several men turned and glared at you darkly. “Where were you when he got shot?” demanded Balthazar, his accented-voice dangerously low.

“Yeah,” Gabriel and Michael agreed loudly.

Michael was quick to add, “None of this shit started happening until you came into the picture.”

“From the moment you showed up, it’s been one thing after another,” Gabriel seethed after standing.

Balthazar tossed back a shot of whiskey. “I say we should be looking a little closer to home if we want to find out who shot Johnny.”

“Fuckin’ zip it, Balth,” you shouted, rolling your eyes and leaning back in your chair.

The older man shot out of his chair and moved to come around the table to get in your face. Dean stood and moved to intercept him, but his mother beat him to the draw.

With red and puffy eyes, she stood toe-to-toe with her husband’s subordinate. “That’s enough,” she commanded softly.

Balthazar, Gabriel, and Michael opened their mouths to disagree, but the look that Mary leveled them with made them all take a step back and drop into their chairs.

“You got anything negative to say about Y/N, there’s the door,” she pointed across the room. “Get your shit and get the fuck out. She has been there for me, for this family-”

“So have we,” Gabriel interjected, his fists shaking in anger.

“I never said you haven’t, Gabe,” Mary said softly.

You cleared your throat and stood. “I get it, you guys are angry, and I’m the new girl. You want someone to blame, it’s only natural. But I did not shoot John.”

The three men were still shaking their heads in disbelief, so Dean decided to join the conversation. “You want to know where Y/N was?  Y/N was upstairs sleeping.”

“Bullshit excuse,” Balthazar huffed.

Dean stalked over, pulled Balthazar out of his chair, and pinned him to the wall, his forearm across Balthazar’s throat, pressing down and cutting off his air supply. “Listen up, Balth, cuz I’m only gonna say this once. Y/N had nothin’ to do with the shooting. Got that?”

Balthazar ground his teeth as he struggled against Dean’s arm, but all it did was increase the pressure on his throat. Dean arched his brow as his gaze grew even darker. “I said, got that?”

“Yes,” rasped Balthazar, his face turning crimson.

You were at Dean’s side, resting a hand on his shaking arm. “Let him go, Dean,” you pleaded.

Only when Balthazar’s eyes started rolling back did Dean release him. Michael and Gabriel dropped down to help their friend stand, throwing Dean a cold glare while they were at it.

“Anyone else got shit they wanna say?” Dean questioned, adrenaline chasing the cocaine through his bloodstream.

Mary shook her head and sat down. “I think the point has been made, son.”

“Good,” he mumbled, taking his seat with you standing by his side. “Now, Mills says they got a tip they’re following. And before y’all start gettin’ riled up again; officially, she’s not tellin’ me anything.”

“The fuck we supposed to do, sit here while the cops take care of things?” Bobby asked as he tore off his hat.

Dean scoffed loudly. “Fuck no. I said she’s not telling me anything in an official capacity.”

Everyone looked at Dean, then each other, then back to Dean in confusion. They were about to ask what the fuck he meant, when the door opened. Dean stood and embraced the woman that just entered.

“Guys, get Mills something to drink.” With his arm draped over her shoulder, Dean smirked.

* * *

Sam pulled in a deep drag as he straddled his bike. “You really think it was her?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Dean shot back. “She’s been nothing but a bitch since Y/N came in the picture.”

“I’m not saying she’s been kittens and rainbows, Dean. But this is Jo. We’ve known her her whole life, man.”

Dean leveled his brother with a cool glare. “I trust Jody more than that fucking tramp. Either you’re with me, or you’re not.”

Sam held up his hands, the sunlight glinting off one of the large silver rings he wore. “I’m with you, brother.”

* * *

Jo woke up with the fucking [Riverdance](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DSevfZ5gCUnY&t=YTUwNzJhN2JjNWIzZDYzOWUxNzZiNDczMzU0MjM2MTFkMmVlMGMxMyxOTzBlRzhrYQ%3D%3D&b=t%3ACfmOVX62N1SvYXISFQBhgQ&p=http%3A%2F%2Fmrs-squirrel-chester.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F160968147397%2Fsons-of-lawrence-16&m=1) going full steam in her head. She groaned in agony and sat up slowly, burying her face in her hands. “What the fuuuuuuck?” Light filtering through the curtains made it possible to open her eyes without feeling like a railroad nail was being driven into her temple.

“The hell happened?” she wondered softly, dragging her hands through her snarled hair.

Digging out her phone, she couldn’t believe the amount of missed calls, voicemails, and texts she had. Either someone in MoL was dead, or they were close to it. There were never this many alerts unless shit had hit the fan. And that’s when she saw it; a text from Mary.

**_John’s been shot. Thought you should know._ **

With her stomach rolling, she stood a little too quickly. “P- Pa- Patrick?” she yelled after stumbling away from the bed. She tried calling for him again, but there was still no answer. When she was sure Patrick wasn’t playing some joke on her by hiding, Jo shuffled back to the bed, sitting down just as her knees gave way, the phone falling into the jumble of blankets.

_Fuckfuckfuck!_

Whatever happened after getting high with Patrick and fucking, Jo couldn’t remember. Oh, she’d blacked out before, but those times were different. There was this feeling of absolute terror and… wrongness that made it difficult to tell the difference between reality and fantasy.

Grabbing the warm beer from the nightstand, she drank the rest of it, grimacing as she swallowed. She picked up her phone and scrolled through more texts.

“The fuck is happening?” she wondered, her voice cracking.

If she thought she was confused before, she opened the string of texts from Dean. That’s when her heart sank deep into her belly.

**_How could you do this, Jo?_ **

**_He’s my father, and you shoot him like he’s an animal?_ **

**_The fuck you at, bitch?”_ **

**_You’ve had your chance. We’re coming for you._ **

Running into the bathroom, Jo dropped to her knees and threw up until her stomach was empty. Even then, her body continued to try and purge itself. After her heart stopped threatening to punch its way out of her chest, Jo moved quickly to get ready; brushing her teeth, throwing her hair in a knot, and getting dressed. At that moment, she wasn’t sure where she was going, but getting the fuck out of dodge seemed like a great idea.

As soon as she stuffed the phone into her purse, someone knocked on the door.

“Joanna,” Dean shouted. “Open the door!”

* * *

Crowley was enjoying a cigar and some wonderfully aged whiskey when the double doors of his office were kicked in. Dean strutted in, his face like marble, his body thrumming with rage.

“Where’s she at?” he demanded, the breath tearing in and out of him.

“Care to refresh my memory, Not Moose?” Crowley joked, enjoying himself a little too much. His smirk remained even after Sam had entered the room, slammed the door closed, and threw the lock. “Moose. How nice of you to join us.”

“Quit fuckin’ around,” Dean yelled, his nostrils flaring.

Sam’s hand on Dean’s shoulder was the only thing anchoring him to the spot. “We heard Jo was here, Crowley.”

“The hell’d you hear that from?” Crowley scoffed.

“You’re not the only one in town with connections,” Dean seethed, shrugging out of Sam’s grip. “Now, tell us where she is.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes as he stared into the emerald eyes of Dean. “What’s in it for me?”

Dean laughed loudly, echoed quickly by his brother. “Hear that, Sammy?”

“Sure as shit do.”

“Fucker thinks he can make some kinda deal.” Holding Crowley’s gaze, Dean stalked over to the table and sat on the edge. Neither man said a word as they each waited for the other to make the first move.

Rolling his eyes and slapping a hand onto the desk, Crowley was the first to break. “Think you’re a fuckin’ hot shot now that daddy’s outta the picture.”

Sneering angrily, Dean pulled out the butterfly blade from his back pocket and expertly spun it before the other half of the handle landed in his palm. He slammed the blade into the back of Crowley’s hand, pinning him to the table. Crowley was on his knees and screaming in pain, watching helplessly as blood poured down the length of his arm..

“My daddy,” Dean snarled. “Isn’t goin’ anywhere.”

“That’s not what I heard,” Crowley gruffed, wide eyes darting between the brothers.

Sam chuckled low in his throat. “You heard wrong, old man. See, whoever shot him is a shit shot. John is in ICU, recovering just fine.”

Before he could stop himself, Crowley spit out a name both men hadn’t heard before, calling him a, “Worthless piece of shit.”

“Patrick shot my dad?” Dean asked. “The fuck he do that for?”

Knowing he’d already said too much, Crowley shook his head, which was an unacceptable answer to the Winchesters.. All Dean had to do was turn the blade a fraction. Crowley spilled everything about setting Jo up to take the fall, whimpering like a wounded animal as he begged for mercy.

“Please don’t kill me.”

Dean wiped Crowley’s blood on the side of his thigh before spinning the blade back and shoving it into his pocket. “Who said anythin’ ‘bout killin’?” he asked sarcastically, throwing a wink to his brother.

“We just want you to tell John what you did,” Sam added, happily bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Crowley stood on very shaky legs and began to back away. “N- no, I wo- won’t.”

“Wait a sec. You hear that, Sammy?”

Sam clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Bastard sounds scared.”

“Rightly fuckin’ so,” Dean added, dark ember eyes flashing with unbridled rage. “You got two options. One,” he said, keeping count with his fingers, “you tell John what you did and then he gets the pleasure of dealing with you.”

Crowley swallowed thickly. “And… what -what’s the other op- option?”

“You get the fuck out of town and we never see you again,” he said happily, chomping away on the gum that sometimes kept him from grinding his teeth. “Your choice.”

“Do I… do I have to make up my mind now?”

“Because I’m feeling generous, you have until the end of the day. Now, where’s Jo?”

* * *

Dean pounded on the door. “Joanna,” he shouted. “Open the door!”

Sam was leaning against the wall. “Maybe she left.”

“Nah,” he murmured. “My guess is she’s just waking up.”

“Why is that?”

He pounded again before answering, “The amount of ruffies Crowley said he gave Patrick. She’s either just waking up or still passed out.”

Something heavy fell against the door, sending shudders through the cheap wood. “Jo, you alright?” Dean hollered. A handful of moments later, the all too familiar rumble of Jo’s motorcycle roared to life.

“What’s the first thing you do when you wake up?” Sam asked Dean.

He shrugged one large shoulder. “Fuck my girl,” was his no holds barred answer.

“Dude,” Sam scoffed, his brows knitting together in irritation. “What do _normal_ people do when they wake up?”

It took Dean a moment, and when the answer dawned on him, he rolled his eyes. “Check their fuckin’ phone.”

Rather than waste anymore time with the door, the brothers tore off down the hall, turning left, then right, and finally out the front door. There was rubber screeching on concrete to their left, several horns blaring, and then the deafening crunch of metal on metal.


	17. Chapter 17

“Joanna,” Dean shouted. “Open the door!”

“Shit,” she ground out. Jo quickly threw on her clothes and scraped her hair back, pulling it into a tight knot on her crown. She scoured the room, looking for another exit, but there was only one door. With shaking hands, she reached for the handle, she’d have to face him sooner or later, right? At the last possible second, a bird flew into the window, pulling her attention away from the Winchesters.

“Fuck it,” she snarled, turning on her heel and running across the room. The window was small, but she was smaller. She wriggled through, tucking her head as she gave one last push on the frame. Landing on her back, Jo groaned heavily, dull pain blossoming in her chest as the air was pushed out of her, but she didn’t linger. After pushing off the ground, she sprinted over to her bike, leaving a strip of rubber on the ground as she tore away.

She had to get out of town as fast as possible, nothing mattered more than that. Was it possible, for her to have shot John Winchester? He was the man that she looked up to like a father for most of her life, and he had been shot, lying in the hospital, possibly dying.

_What in the fuck happened last night?_

Jo was so lost in her racing thoughts, the wind whipping through her hair, gravel spitting out behind her, that she didn’t see the cars until it was too late.

* * *

Dean and Sam raced down the road on their bikes. The sight that met them twisted their stomachs violently, each brother painfully swallowed the bile in the back of their throats.

Jo’s bike was twisted and mangled, looking nothing like a mode of transportation, wedged under the right rear tire of an SUV. A smaller car was connected to the SUV, their engines smoking and ticking loudly, pushed so far into each other that it was almost hard to tell which was which. The only thing that made it possible was the fact that Jo was crushed between them.

While Sam ran over to assist the other drivers, quickly dialing 911 as he went, Dean rushed over to Jo. She was bent over the hood of the smaller car, face pressed against the wrinkled metal, eyes wide, and there was blood spilling from her mouth and nose. She was breathing raggedly, pulling in short breaths that rattled wetly in her chest.

Dean grabbed her hand and pushed blood-matted hair from her face. “Help is almost here,” he breathed, not knowing if he was lying or telling the truth.

Jo choked on the blood in her throat, coughing painfully, staining her teeth and lips. “I… I’m s- sorry ‘bout J- J- John,” she sputtered.

“You didn’t shoot him, Jo,” he assured her, continuing to card his fingers through her tacky hair. “It was Crowley and Patrick, they tried setting you up.”

“Really?” she rasped, her hand in Dean’s slowing its shaking.

Dean’s brows furrowed as he watched Jo’s eyes start to roll back. “Hey,” he shouted, shaking her shoulder. “Hang on, Jo.” He could hear the sirens now, growing closer by the second.

“I just… let me c- close my eyes,” she murmured, words slurring and thick. “It… it’s ok, D- D- Dean.”

Tears pricked his eyes and he squeezed her hand. He knew the EMT’s weren’t going to make it in time, she was losing too much blood and God only knew what damage had been done internally, but that didn’t stop him from trying to keep her from passing out.

“They’re just down the street,” he promised, choking on the emotion in his throat.

Jo pulled in a deep breath as her face relaxed. “Te- tell Mom and B- Bo- Bobby I lo- love them,” she whispered, her voice pain free for the first time.

It wasn’t until Dean promised that he would tell them that she smiled softly and her eyes lost all focus. The tears pushed past Dean’s long lashes, streaking down his cheeks, and off his chin. He reached out and closed her eyes, dropping a kiss to her forehead before he stood.

Sam came running up, two EMT’s behind him. He looked at Dean, who was crying and shaking his head, and stopped dead in his tracks, eyes then falling to Jo. Sam ran a hand over his face as his eyes burned.

* * *

**_ONE WEEK LATER_ **

Mary sat next to her husband, holding his weather-worn hand, her thumb ghosting over his knuckles, and tears pricking her eyes. Most of the time, Mary had kept her emotions in check, keeping her face stoic and letting her husband and sons handle things. But since Dean, Y/N, and John had almost died, the metaphorical wall which she hid her emotions behind crumbled to the ground.

“Come on, baby,” she cried softly. “We need you to wake up. _I_  need you to wake up.” The steady _beep-beep-beep_ of a monitor was her only answer.

You were behind her, hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. “He’s doing much better, Mare,” you said, taking in his vitals as they appeared on the various monitors.

“But he’s not waking up,” she argued, sniffling loudly.

“Believe it or not, that’s a good thing,” you tried assuring her. “His body needs to heal.”

Doctor Novak had taken John into surgery earlier that morning since the swelling had gone down enough to perform it safely. With no complications, the surgery went smoothly, and the bullet was removed. And in theory, John should be awake right now, but he wasn’t.

“Y/N is right,” he agreed, looping the stethoscope, and placing it in his pocket. “It has only been a few hours, give him some time.”

“You’re sure you got everything?” Mary asked, not-so-subtly hinting that Novak may have missed something.

It hadn’t been the first time someone made a comment like that. “The bullet didn’t shatter, Mrs. Winchester,” he stated again. “There was no shrapnel to remove.”

With nothing more to say, Mary nodded, tears dripping off her chin, her gaze settling on the steady rise and fall of John’s chest. You gave a thankful smile to James before he turned and left the room.

“You want some coffee?” you asked her gently.

“None of the vending machine shit,” was her answer.

Chuckling, you turned and left the room, making your way down the hall to the nurse’s lounge. Meg had just finished using the Keurig, filling the room with the aroma of salted caramel.

“Hey,” she greeted warmly, dropping a new K-cup into the top and sliding a clean cup under the spigot. “How you holdin’ up?”

You shrugged and hugged your best friend. “Just waiting on John to wake up.”

“He will, Y/N,” Meg promised, handing you the newly-filled cup, and setting about making another.

Blowing out a heavy breath, you couldn’t help but think of the worst case scenarios. “What if he doesn’t?”

Meg turned and stared hard at you until you met her gaze. “You cannot think like that, Y/N,” she reminded you coolly. “You of all people should know that.”

“I do,” you breathed, rolling your eyes. “It’s just… he should be awake by now.” Your breath hitched in your throat, the emotion stuck there threatening to overpower you.

She was in front of you, pulling the coffee from your shaking hands and resting it on a table. “And he will,” she said sternly. “We all know how much of a fighter John Winchester is.”

You hugged Meg, ever-thankful for her unwavering love and support. “What would I do without you?” you asked, smirking when she squeezed you tighter.

“Crash and burn, babe,” she joked, kissing your cheek as she pulled back. “Crash and burn.”

Dean was standing behind his mom when you came back, coffee in hand. He turned and, despite the sadness dimming his normally brilliant eyes, smiled warmly.

“There’s my girl,” he breathed, wrapping you in his arms and kissing your neck.

With one arm around his waist, you melted into him. “How was the funeral?”

He pulled back just enough to kiss the spot between your eyes, then the end of your nose. “Good as could be expected.”

“They’re never easy,” you said, pushing up to kiss the corner of his mouth.

Mary had just turned and was about to say something when the heart monitor attached to her husband  sped up. John’s face twitched as his hands flexed. You ran out of the room and spun around, looking for James.

Spying him at the other end of the south hall, you shouted for him, “He’s awake!”

Despite the shit that went down between John and Jo, he took her death pretty hard. Tears rolled down his cheeks, dampening the pillow beneath him. Mary climbed into his bed and wrapped her arms around him, whispering into his ear words that no one else could decipher.

Ruby was crying softly into Sam’s dark shirt while he stroked her hair and back. Jo was ruby’s best friend when they were kids, the friendship went late into their teens, until Jo got it in her head that her and Dean were meant to be, that she’d do anything to be with him. Ruby still loved her, though. It felt as if  they were meant to be sisters instead of just friends.

Wanting to give John and Mary some time to themselves, you and Dean got Sam’s attention, and the four of you left, heading home where you could relax fully.

* * *

The rush of cocaine was a welcome reprieve, dulling the ever-present ache that covered almost every inch of your body. You sank back against Dean, his wide chest hard on the back of your head, the _thump-thump_  of his heart soothing the frayed nerves the illegal drug couldn’t touch.

“Feelin’ any better?” Dean asked, his chest rumbling against you.

You sighed in contentment, snuggling impossibly closer between his thighs. “Much,” you confirmed, licking your tingling lips.

Ruby echoed your sigh. “There’s only one good thing I’m lookin’ forward to.”

“What’s that?” Sam asked gruffly, eyes falling closed as he leaned back.

She met your glassy gaze when she answered, “Your wedding.”

Dean chuckled, wrapping his arms around your waist as he shifted, all but melting into the chair. “Suppose we should start plannin’ that,” he chuckled.

You offered another option. “Or we could just have James officiate. Have MoL attend, and Meg.” Three pairs of eyes landed on you. Apparently they all thought you would want some giant wedding or something.

“What?” you asked, chuckling.

“We just,” Ruby started before Sam interrupted.

“Thought you’d want something…” he trailed off, smirking as he looked at Dean.

You tipped your head back and said, “I’m not a bridezilla, if that’s what y’all are thinking.”

After lighting her cigarette, Ruby tossed the pack your way. “Thank goodness for that. Don’t know what Dean would’a done if you were.”

You lit a cigarette and handed it to Dean before lighting your own, drawing in a long, lazy drag. “He doesn’t have much of a choice now, he’s stuck with me.”

“Goddamn right,” he confirmed, dropping a kiss to the top of your head. “So, call the good ol’ doc tomorrow?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” you declared, snuggling even deeper into your fiance’.

* * *

Mary helped put the finishing touches on your [**_dress_**](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.bhldn.com%2Fproduct%2Fsierra-gown&t=MjQwMTU3NmVmM2IxZGViODcwYjUzN2U0NWRlYzA0NTY5ZDI4ZDQ2OCxaZ0NLQ05MaA%3D%3D&b=t%3ACfmOVX62N1SvYXISFQBhgQ&p=http%3A%2F%2Fmrs-squirrel-chester.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F161833977977%2Fsons-of-lawrence-17&m=1), tying the satin-strapped and jeweled belt at the small of your back. Her fingers ghosted over your exposed skin, sending a slight shiver up your spine.

“Sorry,” she breathed.

“Just a little chilly,” you said, smiling gently as she met your gaze in the mirror.

Her eyes were damp as she said, “I’m so happy you’re joining our family. Officially, that is. I’ve thought of you as a daughter from the moment Dean talked about you.”

A wry chuckle fell from your lips. “Keep talkin’ like this and I’ll need my make-up redone.”

“You and me both,” she chuckled, wiping a tear from her face.

There was a knock on the door before it opened. “Everyone decent?” Sam joked as he entered.

Ruby tossed one of her shoes at him, narrowly missing his shoulder. “We might not have been,” she playfully scolded.

Grabbing her hips roughly, he said, “It’s nothin’ I haven’t seen before.”

While Ruby flat out giggled, Mary rolled her eyes. “Ready to go?”

You pulled in a deep and shuddering breath, squared your shoulders, and squeezed Mary’s hand as you nodded.

* * *

The sight of Dean Winchester, standing at the altar, wearing anything other than jeans and a leather jacket made your mouth go dry. Man, Dean [**_could clean up_**](http://justjensenanddean.tumblr.com/post/160815914497/jensen-ackles-cw-upfronts-2017-may-18) good. It felt like it took forever to walk up the short aisle, John Winchester by your side, still healing from the surgery. He made some sort of deal with his doctor, the man ordaining your wedding, but you hadn’t really cared what the details were. You were getting married, and the man you had started to look at like a father, was giving you away.

With your left hand in Dean’s, he slid a plain silver band on your fourth finger, one that didn’t detract from the [**_non-traditional ring_**](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fs-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com%2F236x%2F2c%2F16%2F04%2F2c1604571bea5359be63861c504337dd.jpg&t=OWJlZDgyNTdlOGMxZWE2MWRlNTBkNTZiOTY5MGI5YmYyZTIxN2VlZCxaZ0NLQ05MaA%3D%3D&b=t%3ACfmOVX62N1SvYXISFQBhgQ&p=http%3A%2F%2Fmrs-squirrel-chester.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F161833977977%2Fsons-of-lawrence-17&m=1) that had once been Mary’s.

“I, Dean Winchester, take you as my wife,” he said, his voice cracking. “In good times and bad. Until the end of the line.”

You were sniffling, doing your best not to cry, but watching Dean struggle to keep his emotions in check was harder than you thought it would be. Meg pulled out a wide silver band, and placed into your shaking hand.

Facing Dean, you grabbed his hand and placed the ring on his finger. “I, Y/N Y/L/N, take you as my husband. In good times and bad. Until the end of the line.”

The two of you smiled as the small crowd cheered happily, some of them even giving a high-pitched whistle.

James closed the book in his hands and looked at the two of you. “By the power given to me by the state of Kansas, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may now-”

Dean didn’t give him a chance to finish. He grabbed you by the waist and pulled you into him, kissing you fiercely. You pulled back, breathless and dizzy, gripping his shoulders to keep yourself from falling. Dean was smirking at you, wiggling his eyebrows, and turning, his right arm held out for you to grab. Gnawing on your bottom lip, you hooked your hand inside his elbow, walking alongside him.

The members of MoL, Meg, James, and a handful of other nurses you had become close with over the last handful of years, surrounded the pair of you, pulling you into hugs, and pressing kisses to your cheeks. And honestly, you loved every minute of it. This was now your family.


End file.
